


Miss Niphredil Baggins, Adventuress

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2003-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3863637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An independent sequel to Nár Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pints and Other Measurements

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

It was a busy night in the Prancing Pony, and Brandon Butterbur, the owner, found much work for the hobbit waiter, Marron. Young Marron was Buckland-born, but had for reasons he preferred not to speak of had decided to leave the Shire altogether and find a new life in Bree. The rumour had it he was a Brandybuck disowned by his family for falling in love with a first cousin. Anyhow, Marron was certainly no danger to anyone, that much was plain by his polite behaviour and his stature, which was short even for a hobbit. This night Marron had his hands full, so he failed to notice a customer in the farthest corner of the hobbit-sized tables. This was easy due to the stranger's grey cloak that seemed to merge with the shadows. At last the customer, no doubt frustrated, yelled for a pint of beer in a shrill voice. Almost at once Marron stood by his side.  
'A pint, sir? Are you sure? A Breeland pint is over twice the size of a Shire pint, you know.'  
'I know. But I'm not from the Shire. And I most certainly am not a 'sir', young man.'  
The stranger pulled back the hood of the grey cloak and revealed her face. She was very pale but did not look otherwise ill, her hair was black and her eyes green. While the shape of her face and her round nose suggested she was a hobbit, not to mention her short height, she looked like no hobbit Marron had ever seen.  
'Are you going to stare all night? I recall I ordered a pint.'  
What could he do? He brought her a pint. She paid with a small silver coin.  
'Hey! This is the new money! With King Aragorn's face and all!'  
'So? Minas Anor is full of those - it's the old money that's getting rare.'  
'You have been to Minas Tirith?- Anor I mean, I'm still not used to places changing names all of a sudden.'  
'Don't you have some work to do or something?'  
Marron chose to ignore the woman's irritated tone. He looked round. The room was almost empty - the company of dwarves that had kept such a noise earlier on had all retired to their rooms, most of the Breelanders had gone home, and only some solitary drinkers remained. No, there was no work to do at the moment.  
'Tell you what, that pint is on me, and you tell me all about yourself.'  
The woman grinned mischievously and took the coin back from his hand. Her hand was cool, and very soft. Her fingers were long, almost like an elf's.  
'All right. But don't expect any additional favours - it takes more than one night's friendship to get to know me.'  
The woman ignored Marron's stammered assurances that he had no questionable ambitions.

'My name is Niphredil, and I was born next door to Paradise. Next island, to be precise. Tol Eresseä. I was the only child on the island - the elves have no children there. My family has a smial named Underhill, very close to the western shore. Every evening my mother and father walked to the beach and watched the Sun set behind the Blessed Realm. Sometimes I went with them. I always felt very sad that I could never go to that beautiful land. All our friends were old and wise, and I felt very young and stupid. My family, now, I had nothing to complain about my family. Did I say who my father is? No? Let me tell you, my father is Frodo Baggins. Heard the name, huh? Many a free bottle of wine that I've earned just by a casual mention of that name. And my mother? No shame there, either. She is a Maia. Not a very important one, but an Ainu nonetheless, Tinwen sister of Arien. Then I had old Uncle Bilbo, may he rest in peace. I was a kid still when he passed away. I got very angry about it, almost built a raft and tried sailing to Aman to complain to the Valar for taking away our dear old Bilbo. Eönwë talked me out of it. One of the few folks I really looked up to. I mean, I was surrounded by legendary people every day, Maiar, Elves, and the occasional mortal. I sort of got used to them. Eönwë was different, and you know why? Because he was the only guy with a sword on his belt in the realm of peace. And because he taught me to use a bow. I was a bloodthirsty kid, always asking for stories about wars and battles - I get it from my mother's side, I think - she has some balrogs in the family. It certainly isn't from my father. I must have been something of a pain in his side when I kept on asking questions about the Ring. Anyhow, I was raised by stories, and stories are what brought me to Middle-Earth. I just could not remain in one place any longer. Since West was not an option, I set out for the East. For Adventure. I said my farewells, was given a load of useful gifts by my parents; 'Your inheritance', they said. This cloak is one of them. It comes from Lothlórien.'

Niphredil Baggins paused to raise the pint to her mouth. She drank deep, and smiled.  
'Would you like to see a secret?' Her hand wandered to the laces that bound her shirt.  
'Er...'  
The maiden took this for a positive reply and opened the laces to reveal - not her bosom, but a coat of gleaming, pearl-white metal. She answered the disbelief in Marron's eyes - the eyes he had only pretended to avert chastely.  
'Yep. Mithril. Worth about the same as all of Shire put together. Perhaps more, as the price of mithril keeps rising - but on the other hand, the estimation was never precise.'

 

 

'The Mighty Ones did not give me the use of a ship - for none was to sail east, ever again. Instead, they transformed me into a bird for the journey. I would not choose to be a seagull if I was given that choice today. Wonderful birds, steady flight and all, and a clamour some call pleasant as their song, but you would not believe what those accursed creatures eat! Anyhow, I finally arrived to Middle-Earth, and chose to land in Osgiliath. I wanted to do some sight-seeing, you could say. So I shed the shape of a gull and stood alone in moonlight among the ruins. Or so I thought. Then I heard a voice:  
'Did you drop there from the sky or what?' I turned around to face the speaker - a man in green leather, with braided brown hair, beardless.  
'Actually, I did.'  
'Who are you and where are you from?'  
I felt he would need persuading - he reminded me of my father's story about his meeting with Faramir and the Ithilien Rangers. I thought fast and put on an act, in what I thought was a very convincing Quenya with Numenorean accent.  
'Uien Niphredil, uien wanwa.'* As I looked at him I realised my accent had sunk with Numenor.  
'Excuse me, can you speak Westron?'  
'Yes, sir.' I had been identified as a foreigner - now what?  
'Good, because my High-Elven is not as good as I thought - I did not understand a word you said.'  
'Pardon? Who are you, actually?'  
'I think I asked first, young lady.'  
'I'm probably older than you, young sir.' I was twenty-six and proud of it.  
'Not very likely, unless you are in your second thousand.'  
'What? But you are just a Gondorian!'  
'Meaning you aren't? It would be impolite to repeat my question, but as a servant and friend to the King I need to know at least who allowed you to enter this country.'  
'Well... I hoped to charm you without proof, but I do have a passport that I think a friend to the King would recognise.' I showed him this.

 

Marron did not understand. Niphredil had gestured vaguely at her neck.  
'The... um, mailshirt?'  
'No! He did not look as harmless as you.'  
'Your cloak, then?'  
'All cats are grey in the dark.' Niphredil lifted the ornament that clasped the mentioned garment.  
'A beautiful brooch, miss.'  
'The man at Osgiliath appreciated it for other reasons. It is the mallorn-leaf of Lórien.'  
'You don't say...! But then - that cloak...?'  
'The very same. Stupid of me to wear it in a place like this - it took me ages to get you notice me!'  
Niphredil laughed and drank deep - she was now halfway done with the pint.

'The man stared at my "passport", then, to my complete surprise, he showed me a similar one on his neck.  
'Who are you?' I asked, dim-witted as always.  
'If you have a right to wear what you wear, you should know me.'  
I thought a moment, but of course it was obvious - I had never seen either a human or a sindarin elf, and now had mistaken one for the other.  
'Legolas?'  
He bowed most gracefully.  
'Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss Niphredil...?'  
'Niphredil Baggins, honoured to meet you.' I gave him my hand, and he kissed it.  
'Baggins?' He seemed to measure me up. 'How is your father?'  
'Fine, and happily married. Recovered. At peace. Must be worried for me a bit. But not half as much as my mother. Her name is Tinwen, by the way. Tinwen Híniel Cal-Urúnya Maialaurë El-Carnil Elai Hawkfeather Baggins. She's old as everything, and very pretty, and she loves him absolutely.'  
'Surely not "old as everything"?'  
'Oh, but she is! Older than you, certainly. She's a Maia, you see.'  
'But that makes you...'  
'I'm mortal. And not half as pretty as Lúthien. No magic powers, and I sing really bad. That makes me a Baggins, no more and no less, and with a pretty mother.'  
'I have never seen Lúthien Tinúviel, so I cannot make a comparison, but I assure you you have your father's features and a beauty of your own.'

 

'Those were his words, I swear it. A beauty of my own, by Anar!'  
Niphredil sipped the beer. Then she brought the pint down with a heavy thud, startling both Marron and a small dog who had tried to sleep under the table.

'Legolas took me to Ithilien, where we interrupted a party of elves and men in the woods. When I saw mortals I was surprised how different they were from elves. I was introduced to everyone and everyone was introduced to me, but I remember only Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn. He was no doubt a noble man, but at the time I only stared at his curly beard. She was very polite and it was the first time I saw a woman who was not ten times or more beautiful than me. Fair she was, but her short life was passing swiftly and her brightest youth was a memory only on her face. Yet she smiled and was at home among the fairer elves, and at once I wanted to be like her. Not Big, I mean, but so unselfconscious. She also told me of Meriadoc Brandybuck as she had known him.

'She remembers Master Meriadoc?' Marron exclaimed.  
'You know him?'  
'Sure I do, he's my uncle.'  
'Are you a Brandybuck? Here in Bree? Very nice to meet you!'  
Niphredil reached her hand to him. Marron stared at it, thought a moment, clasped it, thought better, and kissed it.  
'Marron Brandybuck at your service!'  
Niphredil giggled and tried to cover her blush by emptying her pint.  
'Would your service get me some wine?' she asked.  
'Of course. Red, white, or apple?'  
'Apple, and sweet, thank you.'

'Master Brandon, what is the sweetest apple wine we have?' Marron asked.  
'That would be year 19, I think, the bottles labelled "late"'.  
'We still have some of those?'  
'Yes, but only the bigger bottles. I noticed your customer is a hobbit.'  
'I'll ask her.'  
'Her?' Brandon exclaimed, but Marron was gone already.

'Would you like a large bottle of our sweetest, or a smaller one of a more ordinary sort?'  
'The large of course, I can take it with me tomorrow!'  
'As you wish. It makes three silvers.'  
'You won't give it as a gift?'  
'I'm sorry, but I'm a poor hobbit only, and I should really ask three and a half, for it's first-rate.'  
'I was joking. I'm sorry, Marron.'

Soon he brought the wine, and Niphredil refused to pay anything less that the full value. Marron made to leave, but Niphredil clasped his arm.  
'Do sit down and drink with me!'  
She poured for Marron in the one glass he'd brought, and for herself a generous measure in the emptied beer-pint. Then she raised the pint for a toast:  
'This is for future good relations between Bagginses and Brandybucks!'

Niphredil was too tired to continue her tale, so Marron in turn informed her of recent and less recent events in the Shire. Somehow they emptied the entire bottle, and Niphredil found it harder and harder to keep her eyes open.

'Am I boring you?' Marron asked after she yawned the fourth time.  
'No, it's my bedtime.' So saying she finished her wine, shook the bottle and saw it empty.  
Niphredil then picked her bag and a long bow from the floor and asked if the room she had ordered before was prepared. Marron went to check, and came back with a lantern to show her the way.  
'The only room for one we have is human-sized, hope you don't mind?'  
'No, I will only be less likely to fall from the bed!'  
She laughed, then suddenly stumbled and would have fallen had Marron not steadied her.  
'I think you should take my arm, Miss Baggins. You are very tired.'  
'Drunk, you mean!' Again she laughed, but took the offered arm and leaned on it heavily.  
Marron helped her take off her cloak and hung it on the doorknob, because the hooks on the wall were too high for a hobbit.

Niphredil tried to climb into the bed and failed, because it was high as a table for her. Marron helped her up as if onto horseback.  
'Marron?'  
'Yes?'  
'Come here.' A command.  
'Er...'  
'Don't be silly. I won't eat you alive. I just want to finish my story.'  
'All right.' He climbed up and sat on the edge of the bed. Niphredil was under the blanket and her hair covered the pillow in a dark haze. Her eyes were closed.

'That night in Ithilien... I also drank too much. And I was... bothering him. Legolas, I mean. I even kissed him! I asked him to sit with me, and then I just clung to him! He didn't want to make a scene, so he endured me. And then I fell asleep with my head in his lap, and he sat there until morning. He was too nice to me, so polite, didn't want to wake me nor leave me. And when I woke up in the morning I had a terrible headache, and he brought me some athelas! Athelas, for a headache! I've been dependent of the herb ever since, I often get headache you see. I apologised to him and he said it was nothing, he was glad to help, I had been no trouble at all. I was still feeling miserable so he just held me in his arms and told me everything was fine, and he kissed my cheek and put a flower in my hair to make me smile, just to make me smile. We were alone, the others had gone sometime in the night.

'What you must think of me!' I managed to say at last.  
'I think you are just plain wonderful. You enjoyed yourself last night, many people do now and then. In my father's court it is ordinary to drink like you did, I understand it. Also, you did not get angry or sad, so it was pleasant to be in your company.'  
'Even for you?'  
Then he stared at me with those large elf eyes. That was when I fell in love.  
'Especially for me. Niphredil, it has been a long time since any maiden has so flattered me... don't cry!  
I mean it! My sweet one! Can I hold you?' And he... he buried his head in my hair, and kissed my neck, and whispered my name in my ear. Then he kissed me, on the mouth, and held me very close, until I stopped crying...

Niphredil trembled, and Marron saw tears streaming from her eyes. He was at loss. Finally he gave her his hand to hold, and she grasped it violently. Suddenly she drew him upon her body.  
'Hold me! I am so alone!'  
'Miss Baggins, you should not...'  
'Why not? I have no-one else!'  
'But I do. I am sorry. I have a sweetheart in Buckland.'  
'Oh! But could you just hold me, as if I were your sister, and your sister had a broken heart?'  
So he lay down beside her and held her tenderly. Niphredil Baggins cried herself to sleep in the arms of a man she had just met, much as she had her first night in Middle-Earth.

When she slept - and not entirely without snoring - Marron crept out the room with the lantern. Brandon was waiting for him in the corridor.  
'Well, well! At least you had the decency not to stay till morning! I would very much like this to remain a respectable inn.'  
'Mr Butterbur, it's not what you think!'  
'Indeed? You fill a woman's head with alcohol and follow her to bed! Did she resist much? Did you pay her wine, or did she perhaps pay you with it?'  
'No! We only talked!'  
'I disagree. I distinctly hear her ask you 'hold her'.'  
'All right, and I did. With our clothes on and a blanket between.'  
'Why would anyone bother with such nonsense, or believe it?'  
'For things no big man can understand. For innocence and broken hearts, for friendship and for faithfulness.'  
'All right, I let this be a warning. Never go into a customer's bed. Never drink a customer's wine when working. And never let our respectability be questioned. Or you will be fired and your relatives informed of all the details.'  
'Yes, Mr Butterbur. No, Mr Butterbur. I promise, Mr Butterbur. My word of honour as a Maggot.'**

_________

*’Uien Niphredil, uien wanwa.’ means something like ‘I am Niphedil, I am lost.’ Let’s pretend my bad Quenya is Numenorean Quenya, OK?

**Yes, he uses a false name. I am writing this the same time as 'The Bree Letters', where this and Marron's sweetheart get explained. I am also writing another letter-form story, and also having a block there. (Kohaku & Chihiro, anime based).

One more note: Minas Anor. Why not? It's the Leningrad-St.Petersburg thing, and there is no more Minas Morgul for a watch-tower to watch.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	2. Breakfast with Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

'Miss! Wake up! The landlord will have you pay extra if you stay all day! We should be cleaning the room already!'  
The voice belonged to the maidservant, who was human. When she received no answer, she wondered if the customer had left without paying. She knocked once more, then entered. What she saw surprised her.

On the floor; the contents of a bag discarded while rummaging desperately and disorderly for some thing or other. On the chair; the waterbasin with some fresh-scented leaves floating in it. Leaning against the table, a bow as long as its owner was tall.

And on the bed, the owner of the bow and bag sitting, eyes closed, lost in a reverie. In her hands, some small object of glass. She seemed to be speaking to it:

'Dimmed, dimmed in my hands, lightless now. I am unworthy! No light for my darkness... dimmed, dimmed!

Beleth Elaiviel!'

Spellbound, the maid watched the hobbit lift a hand, a sword suddenly gleaming in it. It was the most wonderful sword she had ever seen, a work of art...

Too late the maid realised what the halfling was about to do; the shining blade went for its bearer's heart, the eyes suddenly jerked wide open -

But no blood came, only a jingle of metal. Something was in the way, maybe just a purse of coins in a pocket. The halfling dropped the blade and spoke a long string of unintelligible words. (Much later, when the maid was old, she would tell her grandchildren the strange customer had spoken elven swearwords, so malicious was her tone and so fair the sounds.)

'I did not give you permission to enter!'  
'And nobody gave you permission to leave without paying, madam.'  
'I'm sitting right here!'  
'Sure you are, and trying to escape by means of a sword! What do you fear so much? A ball of glass? A hangover?'

 

'My heart is pierced already. I was just finishing what life had begun.'  
'A broken heart, madam? I had one too last summer, but you know; it was mended before Yule.'  
'Bring me breakfast. Give this goldpiece to the landlord; I will stay until tomorrow. And send Mr Brandybuck here.'  
'Who? I thought you came alone?'  
'Marron, the waiter.'  
'But his name is Maggot, madam. We have no one by the name of Brandybuck in the house.'  
'I must have misunderstood something he said. You do have a Marron, don't you?'  
'Marron Maggot, the waiter. I'll see if he is in.'

 

Marron arrived with the breakfast: toast, ham, apples, bacon, eggs, cheese, tea and milk.  
'I'm supposed to eat all this?' Niphredil asked.  
'Are you feeling ill?' Marron sounded worried.  
'I will before I'm halfway through this. Hey, you would not happen to be hungry?'  
Marron thought back: Brandon hadn't forbidden eating breakfast with customers.  
'As a matter of fact, I am.' He sat down.

'Gladys told me something worrying.'  
'Gladys is the maidservant?'  
'Yes. She said you tried to... kill yourself. With a sword. Sting, unless I am much mistaken.'  
'I did.'  
'I would have blamed myself, you know. For making you remember.'  
'Oh, no! Then I'm glad I live.'  
Marron saw tears on her cheek.  
'Why do you cry?'  
'For shame.'  
'What?'

'I am unworthy. I lied to you, or made a false impression. I did not leave Tol Eresseä entirely of my own will, I was almost banished.'  
'Why?'

Niphredil sighed. 'When I turned twenty-five, my mother gave me a great gift: A necklace with six pearls. Each pearl held a charm; if I touched one, I would see myself in a mirror as the image of any one of my mother's six past shapes. And if I spoke the name of the shape, it would become mine for a week.  
These were the shapes: Híniel, a child with red hair; Cal-Urúnya, a spirit of golden flame; Maialaurë, the very twin of young Galadriel; El-Carnil, a wild hunter; Elai, a noble lady of the Noldor; Hawkfeather, a silver-haired mortal.  
And as soon as I was alone, I took one of the shapes - Cal-Urúnya, whom only one soul had ever seen, Cal-Urúnya, who had brought that soul, Sauron, to his knees.  
In this shape I seduced the one I admired, the one my mother once loved. I seduced Eönwë and he was mine. He asked my name and I told him the Quenyan version of it - Nécadil. Myself as myself he had never loved, and did not when the week was over, when I suddenly came to him in my own shape with the ring he had given me in my finger.

'Where did you find that?' he asked.  
'You gave it to me.'  
'No, I gave it to Nécadil...' Then he realised the name was mine, and I saw a shadow fall upon his very being. Eyes, face, and stature all lost something of their glory.  
'So it was all a lie.'  
'But I love you!' I pleaded.  
'True love cannot lie. You are a child, and a foolish child at that. Tell me, who put the charm and shape of a Maia upon you?'  
'My mother, with these pearls.'  
'So the shape was hers?  
'It was, once. Cal-Urúnya she named it.'  
'A name Sauron gave her. "The blazing red flame". It was a shape she wove to reveal her full glory as a servant of Aulë. I wonder if the taint of Sauron still spoils that shape - was it before you took it, or after, that you decided to win my heart?'  
'Before.'  
'Then the taint is all yours. Tinwen's daughter, child of the Ringbearer, my student archer, you have disappointed me more than anyone ever, including your mother. Perhaps you will grow into a better direction, perhaps not, but you shall do it without my company. I will not come to Tol Eresseä as long as you live here. And I have authority to punish you, Niphredil. Give me the pearls.'

'With trembling hands I obeyed, and he took the pearls and they turned into smoke in his hand.  
'Now, Ohtarcë, give me my ring. It was never meant for you.’  
Ohtarcë was my student-name, "little warrior". It was the last time he spoke it, and I knew I must obey.  
As the ring left my finger, I understood where I had erred. My love had been real, but untrue all the same.  
And I saw what ring it was: Fanya the White, older than the Sun and Moon, yet this was one of the few times it was outside Valinor. Aulë himself had set the diamond in it, and my mother had worn it before the shadow fell on her path. Eönwë had had it in his finger after that, every time he proposed to my mother. He had worn it while he cut off Morgoth’s feet, and the black blood had stained it. He had worn it when he lifted high the two Silmarils, and their light had purified it.

‘And I had worn it, unworthy.  
‘If I had known any sooner, I might have found some of the power that ring must have, but I had to give it back the moment I understood.

‘No more words had Eönwë for me, and he departed. Later the same day, my parents wanted to speak to me. It seemed he had paid a visit to them. Actually, they did not say much. On the dining-room table there was a parcel of fine cloth. Inside it I found this bow of mine, and the vine and arrows.

‘What is this?’ I asked.  
To my surprise it was Quetondo who answered. He is a jewel-spirit, and usually spoke only to my mother. In every room of Underhill there is a special pedestal for him.  
‘You do not know? Silly girl, Ohtarcë, if you can’t even guess!’  
‘Eönwë sent this?’  
‘He brought it’, my father said.  
I held up an arrow and gasped:  
‘This is made by ainurin hands!’  
‘Indeed. Last time a mortal held such an arrow was at Dagorlad, when the archers of Anarion ran out of arrows and picked up all they found, and no mortal has owned such a bow since Numenor fell. Name it, Ohtarcë.’ Quetondo did not usually command anyone. This had to be special. Yet I resisted.  
‘How can I accept this? It ought to go to the east, and slay worthy enemies! Arien’s blood! I don’t think Beleg Cuthalion ever saw the like of this!’  
‘Arien’s blood indeed. Name it, Sercë Arieno!’  
‘Enough names, Quetondo. Let her keep her own.’ said my mother.  
‘I name you Cúlind, the Singing Bow.’  
And I lifted it and it was mine. And so was the wanderlust, the thirst for the hunt, that accompany the servants of Oromë. For they had made my fair Cúlind, carved it from the branch of a deathless tree, strung it with a substance I cannot name, which has never broken or loosened, and remains taut even when wet. Look at these arrows - the red-feathered are for war, the green for hunting, the black for a warning. This was the gift of a teacher to his student.’

‘What do you think of me now, Marron?’  
‘Legolas was right. You are just plain wonderful.’  
‘What do you mean?’  
‘You were taught by the greatest master of weapons that ever was. Your baggage seems to consist of treasure upon treasure. This room is full of the scent of athelas. The sun is your - what - aunt, is that not so? And still you worry about what I, a servant, think of you! If you cannot trust yourself, trust your fate.’  
‘Thank you.’  
‘Besides, I too have a confession to make. Everyone here thinks my name is Maggot. Master Meriadoc exiled me, because I am in love with his daughter. She is adopted, and her mother was named Maggot. Her grandmother is trying to help us.’  
‘What is her name?’  
‘Eowyn.’  
‘Eowyn. What is she like?’  
‘She has golden hair, golden eyes, and a golden heart. She is like a summer sunrise, like an autumn garden, like every dream I ever dreamed. Need I say I love her?’  
‘How could he?!’  
‘Who? What?’  
‘Merry. I mean your Master Meriadoc. Deny you and Eowyn your true love.’  
‘It is not decent for a Brandybuck to marry a Brandybuck, says he.’ ‘What are you going to do?’  
‘Eowyn wants to escape, but I’ve told her I have no home to offer her. I have yet to convince the landlord to employ her and give us a room to ourselves.

‘That simply won’t do! The daughter of the Master of Buckland as a servant? And Merry never to see his error? Let’s see...’  
Niphredil picked from the floor a heavy pouch. She opened it and put something in Marron’s hand. He looked at it, and gasped.

It was the largest gold coin he had ever seen, decorated on one side with the tree and crown of Elendil, on the other with the profile of Queen Arwen.

‘You... I cannot...!’ he stammered.  
‘It is my wedding gift to you. You are, after all, the only child of my second cousin! It shoud be enough to buy a small house. If you lived by yourselves you would have a reason to ask Mr Butterbur for a better pay, and perhaps Eowyn wouldn’t have to work and she could take care of your little ones.’  
‘Really, this is too much.’  
‘Not for me it isn’t. I have four more. And the mithril, the brooch, the sword, the bow... and some other things. There have been dragons poorer than Niphredil Baggins.’  
‘The phial of Galadriel?’  
‘Yes. Gladys saw it, then? The Lady gave me a light in dark places, and she said my road would be long and lonely.’  
‘Your road... you are on your way to the Shire?’  
‘I was. Now I’m on my way to Brandy Hall. Cousin Merry needs some... feminine advice.’  
‘Do you think he will listen to you?’  
‘Hmm... Sam Gamgee is the Mayor, you said?’  
‘Yes.’  
He will listen to me, at least. And the Mayor does the weddings.’  
‘Thank you, Miss Baggins!’  
‘You’re welcome. And please call me Niphredil.’

 


	3. Lady Lilywhite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

There was, these days, a gate on the Eastern Road where it entered the Shire; for King Aragorn had decreed that the ‘Big People’ were to stay away from the land of the Hobbits. Niphredil arrived at the gate late in the evening, when it was closed and the guards were resting inside their guardhouse. ‘Hallo? Someone open this thing, please!’ Nipherdil shouted as loud as she could.  
A moment later a guard came, unarmed and alone.  
‘Who’s there?’  
‘One tired hobbit!’  
The guard stared at her between the bars of the gate. Suddenly he screamed and ran back indoors, shouting to his companions:  
‘It is her! The ghost of Lady Lilywhite!’  
Soon a group of young guardsmen stared at her.  
‘I’m no ghost!’  
‘You must be,’ said one of them, ‘no ordinary woman would walk alone where you have just walked.’  
‘I’m not ordinary. I’m armed.’  
‘She looks just like they say: bright green eyes, pale face, tall and strong.’  
‘I don’t even know who this Lady is!’ Niphredil pleaded.  
‘Perhaps you have forgotten, being dead.’  
‘It would make sense. Her fate was so terrible she would like to forget it.’  
Niphredil ran out of patience. She picked an arrow and shot it, between the bars of the gate, between two staring hobbits, right in the middle of the guardhouse door they had left swinging open.  
‘That is the Black Arrow of Valimar. It is a warning. Let me in, in the name of the Sun and Moon!’  
‘Who are you, if you are not Lilywhite?’  
‘My name is Niphredil, and I am homeless but not poor. I have come a long way to meet my relatives in the Shire.’  
‘Name your relatives.’  
‘The Master and the Thain.’  
‘They have no vagabonds in their families.’  
‘Of course, because vagabonds don’t have a family. But what say you of Hildifons and Isengar Took, or, indeed, Bilbo Baggins? Related to he Master and the Thain, were they not?’  
‘And which of these do you claim your ancestor?’  
‘Stop teasing her! Let her come inside and give her some tea, poor child! First you call her a ghost, and then you demand to know her genealogy! You can see she’s a hobbit and if she were an enemy that arrow wouldn’t have hit mere wood!’  
The speaker was an older guardsman, who had been silent until now. Obviously the youngsters respected him, for the gate was opened and Niphredil received at the guardhouse with many apologies and hot tea.

‘So, what is this Lilywhite Lady you are so afraid of?’  
‘It’s a bunch of nonsense and no more!’ proclaimed the old hobbit, who had introduced himself Hob Hayward.  
‘Nay, she was a woman once!’ And young Samkin Smallburrow began to tell what was obviously a popular story:

‘I ain’t saying no names, but there was a right big family, and Lily was the daughter’s name. She was so fair men fought for the honour of dancing with her, and no man ever said no to her but one. And that one went far away and Lily waited for him to return. Now, this was the time when things went real bad in the Shire, with Lotho as Chief and Big Men stealing everything, and one of the Big Men done Lily and done her almost dead. And she was big with child and then the man who said her ‘no’ came back and soon things were better. And again all young men wanted Lily although she was with child, but now she said ‘no’ and then the one she loved finally loved her right back. And that man was Master Meriadoc. But Lily gave birth and then died, and when she died she cursed every woman who had ever loved many lovers to die as she had died. And Master Meriadoc married Mistress Estella. And he buried her and put no name on the tombstone so that her curse would have no power, and her ghost made lilies grow on the grave so she would know it and have power. And she wanders in the wilderness, and if women have a hard job birthing they break the leaves of a lily and confess the names of all men they have loved.’

‘What about her baby?’ Niphredil asked.  
‘Why, they took her to live at Brandy Hall.  
’ ‘What is her name?’  
‘Eowyn.’

‘Eowyn’, Niphredil whispered. Poor girl, she thought. Separated from her lover and having such stories told about her mother.

‘Bunch of nonsense, is what I say’, old Hob commented.  
‘It is true this Lily once lived and lives no more, and also that a human did violence to her and she died giving birth to Eowyn, who is now Brandybuck. She did have green eyes but otherwise she did not resemble you. When she died she was engaged to Master Meriadoc. I don’t think she cursed anyone, and I think she rests in peace. Her grave has no name because Meriadoc wanted to bury her at the Brandybuck graveyard, but his father told him not to write the name of Brandybuck on the stone. He refused to write anything in that case and planted the lilies instead.’  
‘Oh, but that is such a boring story!’ exclaimed Samkin.  
‘On the contrary. I think I learned something very important about my cousin Merry.’ Niphredil said.  
‘He is your cousin?’ someone asked.  
‘Second cousin, as is the Thain Peregrin.’  
‘Who are you? I mean, whose daughter?’ old Hob asked.

So she told them, and there was beer, and song, and old stories. Niphredil fell asleep in the middle of her description of Minas Anor, her head resting on her arms on the table. Samkin and one of his friends gently carried her into a spare bed.  
Then they arranged her belongings on the chair next to it: the cloak, the sword, the bow and arrows, the heavy bag.  
‘How did she manage to carry all this from Bree to here?’  
‘From Minas Anor. She said she walked all the way, remember?’  
‘Whatever. I’ve never seen a girl like her.’  
‘Mad as a Baggins, as my dad would say.’  
‘I wouldn’t.’ Samkin touched her hair. ‘I would say she is pretty as an elf.’  
‘What did she say her mother was?’  
‘A holy one. A sister of the Sun.’  
‘Far above your level, then, Samkin my fellow. As if she weren’t already. Cousin of the Thain and Master!’  
‘Hush, don’t wake her.’

 


	4. Dreams and Wakings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

It was Samkin’s turn at night duty. He didn’t have to stand out at the gate, just to be awake and sit beside the window. There was a lantern at the gate and no light in the guardhouse, so he would see if someone, or some animal, came.  
Everyone else slept in the bigger room. He thought about the woman sleeping among the men tonight. No one would disturb her, or threaten her honour. This was the Shire and they were hobbits.

Suddenly he heard her voice:  
‘Ai! Laiqualassë meldanya!’*  
He abandoned his post and went to check she was all right. She seemed to be still asleep, but restless, speaking in her dreams, repeating words of an elven tongue. Many others had also woken, and stood staring at the sleeping maiden.  
Someone had lighted a candle.  
‘Hey, Samkin! You should be guardin’!’  
‘Go and guard yourself if you want to!’  
‘Meldanya? Mana rávë?**... Oh, it was a dream... did I shout?’ She was awake.  
‘One could say so.’  
‘Was it a nightmare?’  
‘Well, sort of. I’m fine and not scared, if that’s what worries you. Go to bed and kill that -sercëa- candle!’ ***

Later, when Samkin had returned to the watch-window, he heard soft footsteps approach. It was Niphredil, with a blanket on her shoulders.  
‘I can’t get to sleep again. I try to catch the dream and it escapes.’  
Samkin rose to offer her a chair.  
‘Thanks. By the way, did I shout words?’  
‘Yes.’  
‘Oh, dear.’  
In the dim light he could not be sure, but Niphredil seemed to blush.  
‘Don’t worry. Nobody understood it. You spoke elvish.’  
‘I did? Can you remember what did it sound like?’  
‘You spoke something like a name many times - Meldania?’  
‘It is no name. Anything else?’  
‘Something... lai-kwa-lasse, perhaps. What does it mean?’  
‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell. It is about a lost love. I can say that meldanya means...’  
She stood up and stepped closer to him;  
‘...my beloved.’ She kissed him, suddenly, on the mouth.  
‘We have only just met!’ Samkin protested.  
‘And soon we will part, no doubt. Tonight, let us enjoy our youth!’  
‘It’s the beer talking in you. You will regret this.’  
‘Am I not good enough for you?’  
‘You are too good.’  
‘I’m not a virgin, if that worries you.’  
‘...I should be keeping watch...’  
Niphredil spread the blanket on the floor. Then she grabbed Samkin’s arm and pulled him up from the chair. She began to open his breeches, but his hand stopped her and he undid the laces himself. Niphredil was also wearing breeches, and soon stepped out of them. Strangely, she kept her shirt on.

On the floor they shared passion without love, without even friendship. Samkin had never imagined his first time would be both so intense and violent, and so cold and emotionless. Niphredil certainly was no virgin, she knew how to make a man burn for her and to please her. She came with a gasp, and whispered once more: ‘Meldanya.’ As Samkin came inside her, he realised it was not him she meant.

Yet they kissed, after it, and exchanged sweet meaningless words. But each other’s eyes they could no longer meet.

In the morning, Samkin was sulking, and Niphredil had a headache. She left towards Brandy Hall chewing a bit of athelas and humming to the tune of ‘Man in the Moon stayed up too late’.

________________

*’Ai! Laiqualassë meldanya!’ = ‘Oh! Greenleaf my beloved!’... ;-) (could not resist translating his name to Quenya...)  
**’Meldanya? Mana rávë?’ = ‘My beloved? What is this noise?’  
*** still playing with Quenya: sercëa = bloody...

 

 


	5. The Master and his Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

Cathilda Brandybuck-Boffin was brooming the flagstones in front of the main entrance of Brandy Hall, when a stranger stepped on them.  
‘Good morning!’  
‘Good morning and welcome! My name is Kitty, what is yours?’  
‘Niphredil. Is the Master home?’  
‘Yes, and eating breakfast. You can go in, go straight until the fifth door to the left, trough the two halls, and the middle door is the one you want.’  
‘Some smial you have! I’ll try to find my way, although a map would be useful!’  
Both women laughed.

She found Meriadoc with his son, daughter and wife. Estella looked very small among these three unusually tall hobbits.  
‘Greetings, and good morning!’  
‘Who are you?’ Merry asked.  
‘A long-lost cousin! My name is Niphredil Baggins, and I’m the daughter of Frodo Baggins.’  
Merry stood up and stared at her.  
‘So you are! You have the Baggins nose and the tookish face and the hair of a Brandybuck!’  
They embraced warmly.  
‘You must tell me everything. How is he?’  
Once again Niphredil told her strory, once again she left many things outside it, and even lied that all the servants at the Prancing Pony had been human.

‘This is my wife, Estella, and here are our children, Eowyn and Eomer.’  
‘Nice to meet you.’  
What followed was a long account of events in the Shire, and Niphredil had to pretend she had only heard a word or two from the guards.

After everyone had finished their breakfast, Merry walked Niphredil around the Hall, introducing her to the rooms her father had spent many years of his childhood in. They finished the tour in his study, where he showed her a book of herbal lore he was in the process of writing. Then he told her the tragic story of Lily, and Niphredil informed him of the incorrect ghost-story version the guards had told her, mentioning also that old Hob had known the true one.

‘I also have a lost love behind me, although he still lives.’  
‘Can I ask who is this?’  
‘You know him; it is Legolas, son of Thranduil.’

‘So that was the light I saw in your eyes every time you spoke his name.’  
Niphredil nodded.  
‘Why do you call your love lost?’  
‘It is my fault. I did not take him seriously, and I betrayed him.’  
‘Betrayed? How?’

‘I had been almost a month in king Elessar’s court, and although Legolas visited us often, he spent almost as much time in Ithilien, restoring the woods. In the court I had become a companion to the Queen, who wanted to hear everything I could tell about Tol Eresseä. The elves had given many messages for me to deliver her. Queen Arwen dressed me in the finest garb of a lady-in-waiting and had me seated beside her at every meal. One would think any beauty I might have would be always in her shadow, but it happened so that men who stared with hopeless longing at their queen, saw, when they averted their eyes, those women who sat near her. One of these men was bold enough to approach me; he was no man, actually, but the dwarf Nár son of Bárin. He was young in the years of his people, and his appearance appealed to me. He was kind to me, and I think he loved me. And my heart was twisted and turned to face two ways at once, undeciding, and I took the jewels Nár gave me and Legolas thought they were from the queen. And finally I took him, in the body, I let him have me and hold me. I gave him more than Legolas had ever dared to ask me. This was my betrayal. Later, I sent Nár away and broke his heart, and I confessed to Legolas. I confessed him other things, too, dark things of my past, that I cannot tell even to you. He could love me no longer.’

‘I see. Your secrets are safe with me. I only hope you have learned your lesson.’  
‘Wish I had. But I just can’t say no to a handsome face, and my body whispers to me ‘what is one more time?’’  
‘You mean - there have been others?’  
‘Yes, loveless in loneliness. A man at Rohan, an elf in Rivendell, a hobbit - last night.’  
Merry shuddered.  
‘You shouldn’t be so - outspoken. Not to mention so - open for anyone to - use you. I don’t think you really want to be like that. How did you become what you are, loveless in loneliness?’  
‘At Tol Eresseä.’ She told him how she had seduced Eönwë.  
‘Are you collecting races or what? All you lack is an orc and a troll!’  
‘Merry!’  
‘Tell me, who was the hobbit, last night?’  
‘You won’t tell anyone?’  
‘I’m good at keeping secrets.’ Merry felt he was younger again, talking to Pippin. Or Lily at her worst.  
‘Samkin Smallburrows.’  
‘At the guardhouse?’  
‘Yes.’  
‘At a guardhouse full of sleeping hobbits and someone always on duty?!’  
‘Er - he was on duty.’  
‘Water-Lily, you’re hopeless.’

‘What did you just call me?’  
‘Sorry, did I say Lily?’  
‘Water-Lily.’  
‘Oh. I called her that, once. But she wasn’t half as silly as you are.’  
‘Thanks, cousin.’  
‘Even Pippin was never as silly as you are, and I thought he was my most thick-headed cousin.’  
‘Really?’  
‘But you’re still my cousin, and if you want, you can stay at Brandy Hall. Just don’t break anyone’s marriage.’  
‘I’d never touch another’s man.’  
‘Good. Also, my son is only twenty-two, which is too young.’  
‘Twenty-two? He looks ten years older!’  
‘Good thing I told you, huh?’  
‘Yes.’  
‘Will you stay?’  
‘For the time being.’  
‘You can have Frodo’s old room, it’s been a sort of guestroom.’  
‘Thank you.’

‘Now that you have told me your troubles, I would like to share one of mine. My daughter, Eowyn, is in love with her cousin.’  
‘One of the Maggot boys?’  
‘No, a Brandybuck cousin, my brother’s’s son Marron. I sent him away and he went somewhere near Bree, but kept sending letters for months after. They had been best friends as kids and Eowyn took it hard, but it was only her first love.’  
‘How can you say ‘only’? Your first love was Lily!’  
‘Let me tell you something. Yes, Lily was my first love, and also the first love of a couple of Tooks and one or two others. All of us now happily married.’  
‘All right. But why did you send him away? Eowyn is adopted, after all.’  
‘If Brandybucks start to marry each other, how to put an end to it?’ ‘You could cancel Eowyn’s adoption.’  
‘Never! Lily asked me with her last words to raise her!’  
‘Then you could have young Marron adopted into another family...’  
‘He is too old for that.’  
‘Is there a law about it?’  
‘Not exactly... besides, he is my brother’s only child. He would not give him away.’  
‘But he let you send him away?’  
‘He agreed they should not marry.’

‘I could talk to Eowyn, woman to woman. Maybe I could learn the nature of her love.’  
‘All right. You are welcome to try. But don’t give her any indecent ideas.’  
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’


	6. Woman to Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

Eowyn was baby-sitting two of her smaller cousins, Ginny and Glorry (whose real names were Guinevere and Glorfindel). She was thinking about the visitor.

The woman had come in the morning, clad in breeches like a man, carrying a threateningly large bow on her shoulder. She had introduced herself Niphredil Baggins, and Eowyn’s father had recognized the family semblance.

But Eowyn was not thinking about Frodo Baggins, nor the wonders of the South, nor anything else the visitor had told them about. She was thinking: She came trough Bree and said there was no hobbit waiter at the Pony.

As if on cue, Niphredil entered Eowyn’s room.  
‘Can you send these two to their mother? I’d like to talk.’  
‘I can talk too!’ said Ginny.  
‘I bet you can, dearie. That’s exactly why you have to go - we will talk secrets.’  
‘Glorry, take Ginny and go find your aunt Estella.’

After the kids had gone, Niphredil smiled warmly and sat on Eowyn’s bed.  
‘I have met Éowyn of Rohan, and I must say there is a semblance. She is older, of course.’  
Eowyn found no words.  
‘I have something for you.’  
Niphredil fished an envelope from her pocket.  
‘Someone sent you a letter in Bree, and he had me promise I will give it only to you or to anyone of the Maggot family to deliver to their matron.’

 

Eowyn took the envelope, but did not open it.

‘Do you want to read it alone?’  
‘Can I trust you?’  
‘You can trust me after the sun goes dark and the moon falls, you can trust me after the sea has dried and the land twisted.’

Eowyn read the letter:

"August the third, 29 Fourth Age  
Prancing Pony Inn

Dearest Eowyn, In my last letter I told you to follow your grandmother’s suggestion and start the preparations for our home.  
Things have changed - for the better. The woman bringing this letter, Niphredil Baggins, had given us a wedding gift beforehand - and I have used it to buy a hobbit-house for us. The previous owner has already moved away, leaving some furniture that was too heavy to be moved, so that we have a featherbed, a large table with bolted-in benches, a wardrobe and one rather worn armchair. We still need the small bits and pieces, although I will buy some as soon as I decide what is most necessary. You may come as soon as you can, and if escape is still the plan, Niphredil will help you. But it seems she has other plans, too. Thank her once more for me!

Yours, Marron"

‘Oh, thank you! We don’t even know you!’ ‘I think the Queen Arwen would be glad to hear her money so well used, and I think your mother would want you happily married, may decency rot if need be!’  
Eowyn hugged Niphredil tight.  
‘Your father, by the way, thinks I’m trying to persuade you change your mind. What shall I tell him?’  
‘Tell him... hmm, that I cannot think of anyone else to marry me, and does he want me to become an old maid?’  
‘Very good. All true, yet preparing for the escape - if need be.’  
‘These other plans of yours...’  
‘I suggested some to Merry, but he refused to accept any, not outright at least. What does your mother think?’  
‘Estella? I never call her "mother". She is the worst. I used to love her, but now I can’t.’  
‘I think I could use the Mayor against Merry. Would it work?’  
‘Oh, Master Samwise would never dare to disagree with his old friend!’  
‘Not even if Frodo’s daughter asked him?’  
‘Not even then, I fear.’  
‘I still think I should try. Does he know about this business?’ ‘No.’  
‘That will be an advantage. What about the Thain?’  
‘He knows, and agrees with my father.’  
‘Do you have any friends in Hobbiton?’  
‘One, the Mayor’s eldest daughter. Elanor. She visited me recently, but I did not dare tell her much.’  
‘Elanor. Star of the Sun. Elanor, flower of Lórien. Elanor, named by my father...’

‘Elanor.’  
Eowyn gasped: she had heard a male voice, but there was no-one else in the room.  
The voice continued:  
‘Elanor the Fair, who outshines Niphredil of the Bow. Who holds both your fates in her hands. One change you only have, Shadow of Lúthien.’  
‘Quetondo? You speak to me again!’  
Niphredil opened a pouch on her belt and took out a glistening white jewel. It seemed to Eowyn that the smokelike patterns inside it moved, but she thought it must be a trick of the light.  
‘Eowyn, meet Quetondo. He is a jewel-spirit, from beneath mountains that no longer are.’  
Eowyn found herself greeting a stone, and got a polite but strange reply:  
‘Well met, daughter of sorrow, mother of the morningstar!’  
‘What?’  
‘I think we have heard a prophecy.’ Niphredil grinned.  
‘Quetondo likes to give new names to people. I think my mother taught him that. He’s never called me Shadow of Lúthien before.’

They talked of many things, after that, until the dinner bell was heard.

 

 

 


	7. The Home on the Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

It was an August and a sunny one, good for harvest, good for the heart.  
Elanor and her fiancee, Fastred, sat beneath the canopy of apple-tree branches in the garden of Bag End.  
Fastred was eating apples. Every time he found a very sweet one, he gave it to Elanor.  
Suddenly they heard the thudding of small footsteps and Elanor’s smallest sister Ruby, aged twelve, ran towards them.  
Elanor caught her in her arms.  
‘Ellie-sis! There’s a stranger at the gate!’  
Soon the little girl was followed by the bigger boys: Frodo, Merry and Pippin. None of them looked anything like their namesakes; Frodo, aged 27, had sandy brown hair and a roundish face; Merry, aged 23, was very short, and Pippin, who was 21, had almost black hair.  
‘And it ain’t just any stranger, he has a war-bow.’ Merry panted.  
‘Is that so? Has anyone done as much as asked him in?’ Elanor wanted to know.  
‘Well, no.’ Frodo admitted. ‘Mom and Dad are still visiting the Cottons.’  
‘Then let’s go. I’m sure it’s just some Took on a hunting-trip.’  
Elanor said, and they all went to the gate.

The stranger was no Took, that was obvious by his night-black hair, nor anyone else they might know.  
He had the longest bow they had ever seen, a cloak over his clothes despite the warm weather, and no smile on his face.  
‘Well! For a moment I thought the little lass was home alone!’  
‘I’m sorry for the delay. Our parents are not home right now.’ Elanor curtsied.  
‘Are you allowed to talk to strangers when your parents are away?’  
‘Of course, and you can come in, too. My name is Elanor, this is Fastred of Greenholm, my brothers Frodo, Merry and Pippin,’ the youths bowed as they were mentioned,  
‘and our little Ruby. Oh, and here come the rest of the lot,’ she added, when no less than eight children came from the house and garden. She introduced two golden-haired lasses, Goldilocks and Daisy, a slim maiden almost her own age, Rose, who seemed to be herding the little ones: Primrose, Bilbo, Robin and Tolman. A copper-haired lad with strawberry jam all over his face was identified Hamfast and given an angry look by Rose, who said his name ought to be ‘pantry-burglar’.  
‘Thirteen. I’m impressed. You can call me Niphredil.’  
Now she smiled, and her face seemed to change, and they saw their visitor was a young woman, although clad in breeches.  
Young Frodo opened the gate for her, and Merry whispered a bit too loud in Pippin’s ear:  
‘Big brother will be no company for us today. Look at his eyes!’  
Frodo Gardner stared after Niphredil, still holding the gate as if he had forgotten how to close it.

‘The road goes ever on and on  
Out from the door where it began.’

Niphredil spoke the words as she entered the hall of Bag End.  
‘Hey! That is one of old Bilbo’s!’ Elanor said.  
‘Yes. May he rest in peace under a white stone at eastern Eresseä among the graves of the Teleri slain by Fëanor’s kin long ago at Alqualonde!’  
‘You speak as if you had seen his grave.’  
‘I closed the lid of his coffin. I was there. I knew him.’  
‘Who are you?’  
She curtsied with a gracious flourish she had learned at Elessar’s court.  
‘Niphredil Baggins, at your service, your and your family’s.’  
They all stared at her. It was Frodo who spoke first:  
‘B-Baggins?’  
‘Yes. Daughter of Frodo Baggins.’  
‘We owe your family all we have. Be our guest, and you will see Bag End is still a home of hospitality.’  
At Elanor’s words, Frodo helped Niphredil take off her vine of arrows, and Fastred took her bow. Merry and Pippin carried her bag together and Goldilocks showed her the way to the better guest-room.

After Niphredil had arranged her things and washed her face, Elanor served tea in the garden. Rose and Frodo sat with them, and their younger siblings had their tea in the kitchen, supervised by Goldilocks. Fastred had gone to the Cottons to tell Master Samwise the news about the visitor.

Niphredil Learned more about life in the Shire as she listened to Rose and Elanor tell of family events and village gossip. Young Frodo was strangely silent. Suddenly he asked:  
‘What year you were born in, Miss Baggins?’  
‘The second of the Fourth Age.’  
‘Really? That’s the same year I was born in. How come you have left home so young?’  
‘Exactly because I was young, and everyone around me was old.’  
She then told some of her adventures. Elanor mentioned she, too, was a maid of honour to Queen Arwen, and told of the King’s visit to the North.

Suddenly a hearty voice greeted them; Master Samwise had arrived. He was a stout hobbit with a touch of silver in his curls. Rosie was there as well, in her best greed dress and with her sweetest smile. Niphredil stood up and curtsied, as Elanor introduced her.  
‘How do you do, master Mayor?’  
‘Never the better, now that you are here. Please, call me Sam.’  
Niphredil could tell he wanted news from Tol Eresseä, and she had plenty. She also had a letter from Frodo to his faithful friend, but no one except Sam ever learned what was written there.  
‘I hear my children have already seen to your lodgings. Is there anything else I can do for you?’  
‘Actually, there is. On my way here I met a maiden who has been separated from her sweetheart. They love each other, but their parents won’t allow them to marry.’  
‘Why not?’  
‘Because one of her family has never married with one of his family.’  
‘So they are not cousins or anything like that?’  
‘No. There is no such obstacle.’  
‘If they are of age, I can wed them to each other.’  
‘She is thirty, and he is twenty-nine, but no longer lives with his parents.’  
‘When he turns thirty, I can wed them, but unless they wait three more years, their parents may cancel their right of heritage.’  
‘Do you promise you will do this, no matter what you think of their families?’  
‘I promise. Unless - unless they are not hobbits of the Shire, in which case I have no authority over them.’  
‘They are of Shire families.’  
‘Who are they?’ Rosie asked.  
‘Eowyn and Marron Brandybuck.’  
‘But they are first cousins!’ Sam exclaimed.  
‘You know they are not.’  
‘Rosie, tell her.’  
‘Come with me, Miss Baggins.’

Niphredil followed her to a bench separated from the rest of the garden by thick evergreens.  
‘I wish I would not have to tell you what may not be more than an ugly rumour.’

‘Do you know how long a hobbit woman usually bears a child?’  
‘Seven months. At least my mother bore me that long.’  
‘Yes. Now, Eowyn was born the nineteenth of May. Count back seven months.’  
‘November.’  
‘Yes. Now, everyone knows Lily was already heavy with child in November. But in the winter no-one except her own family saw her. Humans, I’ve heard, bear their children nine months. And Lily did indeed say Lang raped her in September. So this is what I’ve heard, and I hope you will not repeat it to anyone. What if Lily had a miscarriage, but somehow got pregnant again? Who in this case is the father of Eowyn? She is a tall girl, but not as tall as Meriadoc Brandybuck.’  
‘You know yourself that is extremely unlikely. My cousin is no such man. Why did you tell me this?’  
‘Because some want to believe it. People who say Eowyn would be a fine match for Faramir Took. I don’t believe any of it, but the young couple might be treated unfairly.’  
‘They are going to live in Bree.’  
‘Bree? You know, that might work. They have to be wedded here, but after that...’  
So the two women started planning the life of Eowyn and Marron, and Niphredil wrote both of them a letter.

 

 


	8. The Mallorn in the Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

Niphredil was reading the Red Book in her bedroom, with a candle on the table. The story, although familiar, had captured her and she did not know it was already midnight.  
Suddenly something rapped against the window, and she startled. There was someone out there, a dark shape in the moonlight. Niphredil took Sting from a hook on the wall and drew it. She was almost surprised it did not glow a warning light. Then she laughed at her own stupidity. She opened the window.  
‘Who’s there?’  
‘Would you like to come for a walk?’ The voice was that of Frodo Gardner.  
‘All right, but why didn’t you use the door like decent people?’  
‘Because my dad would say it ain’t decent to go for a walk in the middle of the night! Can you climb out trough the window?’  
‘It’s that late already? Maybe I shouldn’t come...’  
But the look on his face was so disappointed Niphredil immediately took her cloak and climbed on the table and out the window.  
‘Don’t worry, I just want you to see something. The moon is almost full.’  
They walked up the hill to the Party Field, and there Niphredil saw a marvellous sight.  
The Mallorn was tall and thick-limbed, and its silver bark shone in the moonlight, and the dew on the leaves was like pearls.  
‘Oh! It is lovely!’  
‘Let’s go closer.’ Frodo took her hand.  
Soon they stood under the tree. The moonlight shone trough the leaves, making a green shade below the branches. There Frodo spread his cloak and they sat down.  
‘I often come here at night. This is the first time I’m not alone.’  
‘My father is like that, too.’  
‘Really? I’ve never thought I’m anything like him.’  
‘You don’t look like him, but looks aren’t everything.’

‘Miss Baggins...’  
‘Call me Niphredil.’  
‘Niphredil. How long do you plan to stay here?’  
‘Where? Under this tree, at Bag End, or the Shire in general?’  
‘I was thinking, at Bag End.’  
‘Hmm. Until Marron Brandybuck’s thirtieth birthday, at least.’  
‘Are you invited to a party?’  
‘I hope to be invited to his wedding. But I don’t know the day yet.’  
‘I don’t even know the name of his bride.’  
‘You will learn in good time.’  
‘Er - it’s not yourself, surely?’  
‘No!’ Niphredil laughed.  
‘Good. I mean, er, nothing. Sorry.’

Niphredil suddenly realised she was feeling as if she were drunk, but she hadn’t touched the wine at the supper table.  
‘Aren’t you cold without your cloak?’ she asked Frodo.  
‘Maybe a bit.’  
She wrapped her own cloak around them both and her hand around his shoulders.  
‘Your hair smells good.’ Frodo whispered.  
‘You mean it’s in your face? Sorry!’ Niphredil giggled.  
She could feel his breath getting heavier. Suddenly he embraced her and pulled her to sit in his lap.  
‘You are the most beautiful maiden I ever saw. You are more beautiful than Queen Arwen.’  
Niphredil kissed him, first on his cheek, then on the mouth. She turned her body to embrace him.  
‘I feel strange.’ Frodo said.  
‘You have never made love?’  
‘Never!’  
‘Want to?’  
‘We should not...’  
‘I know you want to.’  
‘I love you’, Frodo admitted, ‘and I want to marry you. Will you marry me, Niphredil Baggins?’  
‘Oh! I... I don’t know.’  
‘I thought so. You will leave me.’v ‘I’m not ready yet to marry anyone.’  
‘Then you shouldn’t be ready for that other thing, either. What if you get pregnant?’  
‘It’s my problem. I haven’t, so far.’  
‘You mean...’  
‘Y-yes.’ Suddenly Niphredil was sobbing. Frodo patted her back, gently.  
‘There, there. You don’t have to tell me who it was. I love you, you know.’  
‘Y-you are s-so nice.’

They walked back into the garden. Niphredil’s window was still open. Before she climbed in, she kissed Frodo good night. Frodo helped her step on the windowsill.

When she descended from the table, a lantern was uncovered in the room.  
‘Mistress Rosie!’  
‘I came to see you are not reading your eyes out, and what do I find? An empty room, an untouched bed, and a window open. And the same thing in my son’s room. What have you two been up to?’  
Frodo stood up; he had been hiding below the level of the window.  
‘Nothing, Mom! I took her to see the Mallorn in the moonlight.  
‘Indeed? There are leaves in your hair, and your cloak is inside out.’  
‘Mrs Gardner, you have my word of honour he behaved perfectly decent.’  
Niphredil suddenly stood straight, and there was a new tone of authority in her voice.  
Rosie thought she saw Master Baggins, long ago in the Cotton home, answering to Gaffer Gamgee’s question whether ‘Sam has behaved hisself’. For the first time she noticed how much the girl resembled her father.  
Rosie could only say:  
‘Well, at least he has done all he can to make things look strange. A mother is worried, you know?’  
‘I understand. But I don’t think you will ever have to worry about Frodo. He is one of the most sensible people I’ve ever known.’

 


	9. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Seven are never named by Tolkien, but it occured to me to name them in Sindarin. So here:

'A wind came from the west  
and brought me a butterfly.  
A wind came from the south  
and kept her close to me.  
A wind came from the east  
and blew her far away  
A wind came from the north  
and whispered in my ear:

'Is it best to live and never love,  
or to love and never live again?'

 

'It is best to love and live,  
to live, but never love again!'

 

'Hard words, my friend, and bitter.' Gimli son of Glóin reproached Legolas, who leaned on the railing of the Bridge of Osgiliath, facing the sea.  
'They are only words. Words of the wind, that only the wind listens.'  
'You did love her.'  
'Love her? Yes. But her deeds I hate.'  
'Although she knelt before you and confessed and begged your forgiveness?'  
'She did not ask for my forgiveness. She asked for my understanding! She was full of explanations and lacked all shame and honour!'  
'I see, then. You feared she would do it again?'  
'I feared she had learned nothing.'  
'Is that not the same thing?'  
'No. I know she could be different, but first she has to do some serious thinking and choose her own way.'  
'How do you know?'  
Legolas was silent, then spoke softly.  
'Her father trusted her. And her mother, the Maia. Eönwë gave her a bow and arrows.'  
'A good bow, that one.' Gimli tried to change the subject.  
'Indeed. The best one this side of the Ocean.'  
'Really?'

'One day, in Ithilien, she challenged me to a shooting competition. Our target was a slice of wood with the rings made by years as its only marks. We put it on the other side of a field, but it turned out to be too easy: all our arrows hit the exact center. We put it in the branches of a tree so that the leaves hid it, but it was still too easy. Finally Niphredil put it behind the trunk of the tree. I protested, and she laughed at me.

'My arrow hit the edge of the slice from above, and I thought it was the best anyone could do.'  
'I suppose she scored.' Gimli interrupted.  
'She did. Straight in the center, and when she pulled the arrow out it had gone almost trough the thick slice. If the target had been a man hiding behind the tree, it would have killed him.'  
'Impossible! I know arrows can be shot like you did, to go up and then directly down, and the wind can be used to make them turn in the air, but to kill a man behind a tree...'  
'I know. Such a bow, with such arrows, could do wonders on a battlefield.'  
'Or the archer would shoot himself accidentally.'  
'Not that archer. Eönwë taught her.'

'There is a story I would like to tell you.' Gimli said.  
'Go ahead.'  
'Long ago, When Durin, the sixth, was the Lord of Khazad-dum, one day at the Western Gate there arrived a dwarf-woman, carrying nothing but a basket of berries. The gate was open and the guards assumed she had gone out before the changing of guards and was now returning, although they did not know her. She walked in, sat on a bench under a lantern in the city, and offered her berries to all passing children. She did not speak a word. Evening came and someone noticed she was still there. She was offered a place to stay. It turned out nobody knew her. She learned the dwarven tongue easily, but never told her origin. She became a servant at the king's kitchen. The name she used was Dari. She had silvery hair and bright eyes. One day the king, who was a widower, noticed Dari and asked if she was married.  
Dari replied:  
'I am not, my lord, but I have sworn an oath to marry the man who breaks open this chain that binds my neck.'  
She showed him a golden chain with a black stone. The chain looked frail, but the king could not break it, not with his hands, not with any tool. Neither could anyone else. Finally Dari asked to learn some smithcraft herself, and was allowed to. But she, too, failed to break her chain.  
Years passed and the Balrog woke and slew the king. The warriors escaped, and saw Dari stand and defend the body of Durin. She took the king's axe and hit the monster. The flames seemed not to burn her, but neither could she harm her opponent. The Balrog threw her into a wall, but she approached it again.  
'It is not too late, brother, for you to choose true light again!'  
The dwarves do not understand this, but the words were heard and remembered.  
Dari raised her left hand and lo! In her finger shone a golden star. Suddenly she seemed to be glowing, and her hair was like fire, her clothes like clouds the sun shines trough. The dwarves knew the star on her finger; Glorharn, the gold-stone, mightiest of the seven rings. They had thought Durin had it, and she had not taken it from the body, so he must have given it to her while he lived. The Balrog attacked her and everyone else escaped during the battle. Durin's son Náin stayed near and listened. When there was silence, he went to have a look. It seemed the Balrog had killed Dari and taken Durin's body away. Náin lifted up Dari and carried her to safety. She woke when Náin took the ring from her finger. She said only:  
'It is yours. I am sorry.' And then she walked away and was never seen again.  
What do you think of this?'  
'She called the Balrog her brother, and wore an unbreakable chain. Did you hear Niphredil tell of her mother?'  
'Yes.'  
'It must have been her. To think that she, too, was a ringbearer...'  
'Very much like Gandalf.'  
'One day of her life. Another, she was Elai and fought beside Gil-Galad. Before that, she was other things, with other names. Cal-Urúnya, bride of Sauron. Híniel, child older than mountains. Maialaurë, a mirrored image. El-Carnil, star of fate. Hawkfeather, the adventuress.'  
'Do you think that is why her daughter is as she is?'  
'Tinwen loved many, but never betrayed.'

__________

Note: the Seven are never named by Tolkien, but it occured to me to name them in Sindarin. So here:

The seven Rings for the dwarf lords in their halls of stone...

The mithrilstone, bright Mithrilgond  
The star-stone, blue Galadharn  
The silver-stone, grey Celebsarn  
The ironstone, dark Angond  
The bloodstone, red Seregond  
The night-stone, black Morgond  
The gold-stone, yellow Glorharn  
________________

More to come: I had already written chapters 10-13, but my computer developed a disorder and is now waiting for my brother to fix it. My brother may get a weekend leave from the Army at the beginning of June, so with any luck I'll have the chapters online soon after that...

 


	10. Bride as White as Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

  
It was a good harvest that year, a snug autumn in house and hole, and each and every hobbit looked forward to a bonny Yuletide indeed. Niphredil remained at Bag End until the beginning of December, when she suddenly announced she had an errand to Buckland.

During her stay she had become almost a part of the family - she told stories to the little ones, taught Merry and Pippin some archery, and even learned to bake with Rosie and Elanor. She bought fabrics and made herself some skirts and dresses, green as grass, yellow as the mallorn-leaves in November.

Frodo went with her, he did not want to be parted from her. Everyone knew he was in love with her, and since she allowed him to accompany her, it seemed she had feelings for him, too. Elanor was loath to let her brother go, and she warned him many times not to do anything he might regret later. Niphredil heard of this - Frodo kept no secrets from her - and asked Elanor the meaning of it.

‘Baggins you may be, but you are young, and young of soul, and the spirit that is in you sleeps yet, you have danced too fast and lost your West and East - you are dangerous, that is the result, although you do not mean to be.’  
These were strange words from the mouth of a hobbit-maiden, but the wisdom in them was not lost from Niphredil. Indeed she saw a light in Elanor’s innocent heart not unlike the light of sunset upon the Blessed Realm.  
‘I hear and I see. What you say is more true than you know. I have heard a prophecy that you shall outshine me, and you have. And I am not suprised - you are the daughter of Samwise Gamgee.’  
‘I don’t know what came over me! I meant to say something else, but now I have forgotten it all. Tell me, friend of my heart, where did those words come from?’  
‘Many things there are unseen, and powers that walk from mind to mind. The courage in despair, the beauty and the wisdom in simplicity, who can say where they come from?’  
As friends they parted, under a bleak December sky, and Niphredil, once again clad in breeches, shouldered her bow and her bag, which was heavier than before, and accompanied by the well-wishings of the smaller siblings of Elanor and Frodo, walked briskly down the hill, with Frodo on her side, and Elanor’s eyes followed them all the way down.

The day after the following, having stayed the night at the Golden Perch, Niphredil and Frodo arrived at the Marish, the Maggot Farm to be precise. Eowyn was there, helping to prepare for Grandma Maggot’s one hundredth birthday, which would be celebrated a week before Yule. The tall maiden stood at the gate, waiting for her two friends. When she saw them at the end of the road, she ran to greet them.  
‘Niphredil, oh, Niphredil! It’s really going to happen!’  
‘Of course, dear.’  
‘What?’ asked Frodo.  
‘Eowyn, shall we tell him? He’s trustable but I wanted you to decide.’  
‘I know he is. Frodo, I’m getting married. On Grandma’s birthday. Your father is expected anyway, the mayor is always invited to a hundredth birthday. I’m getting married with Marron, and it must be kept a secret from everyone at Brandy Hall.’  
‘I promise I won’t say a word.’  
Niphredil smiled.  
‘Good. Now, what I’m here for is to smuggle Marron across the Brandywine without entering Buckland. Eowyn, have you found me a route?’  
‘Yes. My cousin Galahad Maggot drew you a map. There is a place called the North Shallows, five miles north from the Bridge. Nobody ever goes past it with a boat, there are so many stones. The Brandybucks think it may have been a ford long ago, when there was no bridge and Big People dwelt here. It’s very hard for a hobbit to cross, you have to be able to swim and some of the stones are sharp. Animals refuse to cross there. But Marron can swim, and I guess you can, too?’  
‘Yes. But how did you know?’  
‘You’re just the sort of hobbit to do things like that.’  
‘Ha! I take that as a compliment. Before we go in and stop talking secrets, Frodo, will you come with me to Bree?’  
‘I would, but I’m rather afraid of water.’  
‘Oh. And we just can’t have you walking the road alone, when everyone remembers you left with me. Well, I’m sure this farm has work for you, what with the party coming and all. You could make pies with your mother’s recipe, but remember not to eat all the mushrooms!’  
They walked in to a house as full of hustle and bustle as an anthill, but ever so much more homely.  
Eowyn’s numerous cousins and aunts had spread their baking and cooking from the kitchen to the long dining table, some of the smaller children sat under the table begging for morsels of sweet dough, competing for the place and playing with two puppy dogs.

Eowyn seemed to be no part of the preparations, and she soon explained her special job was keeping company to Grandma Maggot - it would be a terrible thing, wouldn’t it, if the one whose birthday it was got forgotten because she was too old to help. But when Frodo and Niphredil entered the old woman’s room in Eowyn’s wake, they saw she had not been idle.

Spread on the bed was the lower part of a wondrous white wedding gown, made of bleached linen and embroidered with flowers cut out of luxurious white silk. The upper part was in Grandma’s lap and she was stitching it with little beads of white mother-of-pearl, in the pattern of one great, stylished lily. The matron was so concentrated on her craft that she did not notice the youngsters had entred the room.  
‘Grandma, they are here.’ Instantly the woman lifted her eyes, startling sky-blue eyes, and looked at her guests.  
‘Hmm. One Baggins, one Gamgee. Well, young hobbit, will you follow her no matter where she goes?’  
‘The name’s Gardner, Ma’am.’ said Frodo, unable to answer the question.  
‘And he matters to me, whether he follows me or goes away. But I must compliment you on that wonderful gown. The lily pattern, the silk - perfect for a winter wedding.’  
‘Forgive me my odd greeting. But when I saw you, I sort of didn’t, I saw your fathers, although I’ve only ever seen them once or twice. This gown - it is not all new. The silk and the beads are from the dress my Lily sewed for herself and never needed. I argued long with myself whether to take it apart or not, but I sincerely hope there shall be no need for a maternity wedding dress in this family while I live. Besides, it was made for Eowyn too - she was already inside her mother’s body when Lily first tried this on. The veil she shall have as it is, a bit yellowed but it won’t show with her golden hair shining though, and besides it has real pearls on the brow.’

‘Eowyn, I envy you! Such a significant dress, and a secret wedding, I don’t understand how you can bear the exitement!’  
‘Hardly.’  
‘Huh?’  
‘I can hardly bear it.’  
‘A little while yet, I promise to bring you your fiancee as soon as I can. In fact, if I could just have some of those mushroom pastries I smelled dowstairs, and some other provisions, I shall be on my way. If you could lend us a cart, Frodo could drive me to the Bridge. He plans to wait for me here.’  
‘Eowyn, negotiate them some provender, be a dear. Those girls of mine dowstairs are counting every crumb, bless them!’

Negotiation was indeed the best word for what Eowyn did. She had not trusted even her own aunts with her secret, so they thought they were preparing Grandma’s birthday feast. Niphredil seemed to have no business with it, and while they would gladly serve her a meal, provisions and mushroom pastries were another matter. And the cart was needed to haul a load of gifts from a craftsman in Woody End, another direction entirely.  
‘The gifts can wait! Niphredil has to go to Bree and back again before the feast!’  
‘Why so? She ain’t no relative of ours, and I want no girl wearing trousers on such a day, with the Mayor here and all!’ said Rose Burrows, who was in a bad mood because she had just burned a batch of cookies. Rose was generally a friendly woman, but her short memory caused many baking accidents and these in turn caused a short temper. ‘Aunt Rose! Frodo here is the Mayor’s son, and Niphredil is almost one of his family. Heavens, she is Niphredil Baggins!’  
‘And I’ve got a pretty dress in my bag. Made it myself. With embroidery on the sleeves!’ Niphredil put in.  
‘Please, Aunt Rose! Niphredil will bring a special gift from Bree, but it’s a secret, for it’s a gift to Grandma.’  
‘Oh! Then it’s all right. Boldo, dear! Since you seem to be idle you could help these young folks get that stubborn creature of yours to draw the cart!’  
Eowyn’s Uncle Boldo was a good-natured fellow with grizzled hair. He smiled and seemed not to notice that the fire had gone out in the pipe he was holding in his mouth. He helped them indeed, and introduced them to a mule named Dandy.  
‘Big and strong and lazy as a bear in winter. But he’s afraid of the stick although I try to spare it.’  
And so they set forth.


	11. Fare Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

  
Niphredil took leave of Frodo near the Gate on East side of the Bridge. They were in full view of the guards, but these could not hear them. She kissed Frodo on the mouth, then said:  
‘Have faith. Hope. Farewell!’  
‘Fare well, Niphredil, my love.’ His eyes were full of tears, hers were dry. Niphredil stepped from the cart and her heart rejoiced at the thought of being on the road again. She shouldered her bow and bag, and walked to the gate.

‘Are you leaving us, Miss Baggins?’ the guard asked.  
‘Yes. I may return or I may not. Goodbye.’ He let her out, then closed the gate, and turning, faced Frodo, who gripped the iron bars like they were the rails of a prison, and stared after the girl. She did not look back, not once.  
‘And who might you be?’ the guard asked.  
‘Oh. Sorry.’ He turned, ‘Frodo Gardner, of Hobbiton.’  
‘Nice to meet you. I’m Samkin Smallburrows.’ His face was without the least trace of a smile.  
‘She definitely has you hooked,’ Samkin commented, when Niphredil disappeared from their view.  
‘Excuse me?’  
‘She. Has. You. Hooked. You look like the fish who swallowed not only the bait and hook but the line and rod as well, and kissed the hand of the fisher.’  
‘What are you hinting? She is a good woman.’  
‘She sure is a woman. But you’re not the first man she uses, nor the last. I suppose she’ll go fishing in Bree.’  
Frodo grabbed Samkin’s tunic, scaring the youth.  
‘Nobody speaks like that about Miss Baggins! Apologise at once!’  
‘Sure, sure. Let go of me! I’m a guard and if you hit me it will be an offence!’  
Frodo let go, but kept on staring menacingly at Samkin.  
‘I apologise.’ Samkin said at last.  
‘Why did you say those things about her?’  
‘Because... I wanted to warn you. There are women who... take what they want from a man, then leave him, and walk away whistling. And they way she left you just now, not looking back, it reminded me of something that once happened to me.’  
Frodo stared at him. Suddenly he guessed. He grabbed hold of Samkin’s collar and lifted him off the ground, although they were of a height.  
‘It was you! Cretin! What you did to her is unforgivable.’  
‘No! Put me down! I’ll tell you who it was!’  
‘Tell me.’ Frodo let Samkin’s feet touch the ground put did not release his grasp.  
‘She called him Laiqualassë Meldanya.’  
Frodo slowly let go. Then he breathed in savagely, and whispered a translation:  
‘Greenleaf my beloved.’ He closed his eyes and clenched his fists.  
‘I’ll get that elf if it’s the last thing I do. This I swear. I will make him apologise to her. I will put him at her mercy. Witness my oath, Samkin Smallburrows.’  
‘I hear. I am your witness.’  
‘You will soon see me pass this gate. But first I have to return this cart to Boldo Burrows. And send a message home.’  
‘Frodo Gardner. I will go with you. I mean, when you leave Shire. But how do you find the elf you seek?’  
Frodo smiled a grim smile with no joy.  
‘Easy. He’s in Gondor. He’s Legolas. Greenleaf. Son of King Thranduil. Friend of King Elessar, and of my father and hers.’  
‘Your father?’  
‘Sam Gamgee. The Mayor.’  
‘Oh.’ Samkin smiled.  
‘This is right. It’s destiny. Mr Gardner, I’ll be your Sam.’

So it was set.


	12. Bittersweet Wedding Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

I: Sweet

Young Galahad Maggot and his twin sister Galadrella sat hidden in the willows at North Shallows. Brandywine was wide there, and they could hardly see the trees of the opposite shore. They had been camped here for three days now, and considered it a grand adventure, but were also worried for their cousin’s bridegroom: would he arrive in time?

Finally they saw movement: someone leaned against a tall stone in the middle of the river. The shape had long, dark hair. It was the Baggins girl. The twins stood up and finally saw Marron following her. They dared not shout, although no one was likely to hear. All they could do was wait.

When the travellers came nearer, they slowly rose from the water, and the twins saw that Marron leaned heavily on Niphredil. He also coughed a lot.  
‘Are you all right?’ Galadrella asked.  
‘We are now. Niphredil saved me. I slipped and would have hit my head, but she caught me.’  
‘I promised everyone I would deliver the birthday parcel safe and sound.’ Niphredil smiled, and they all laughed as they sat down.  
‘Where is Frodo?’ Niphredil suddenly asked.  
‘We don’t know. He’s left the Shire, but nobody knows where he went. Eowyn is keeping a letter from him to you.’ Galahad told.  
‘Left the Shire? Frodo Gardner?’  
‘Yes.’  
‘And so suddenly. I wonder...’ But Niphredil never finished the sentence.

Galahad led Marron a little way ashore, and gave him dry clothes, while Galadrella gave Niphredil one of her own dresses she had left at the Maggot Farm.  
‘Why, I think no-one recognises me in a dress!’ She exclaimed.

It was the day before Grandma Maggot’s birthday. They had arrived just in time.

The feast was a grand one, with relatively few but well selected guests filling the whole household. The neighbours came, and many friends, and the Mayor and the Thain with their wives. The Master of Buckland came too, but left Estella to manage things in his absence, as his son was too young for that. The most respected guests sat at the big table, their relatives elsewhere in the main room, small children sat in laps and the bigger children had their meal in the large kitchen. The party began with cheers and congratulations, Mrs Maggot’s daughters gave gifts from her to everyone, and then it was lunchtime. Eowyn wore a good dress, but not the white one. Marron was hidden, with Niphredil, in Grandma’s room, and they had a cold meal that had been brought earlier. While everyone was busy with eating dessert and listening to the Mayor’s speech, Marron and Niphredil climbed out by the window and she left him standing there, in his best suit.

Niphredil met Eowyn at the door and gestured her to go and change into her bridal gown.

Then the daughter of Frodo Baggins entered the hall. She was wearing a pretty green dress, and it took a while for people to regognize her. Sam Gamgee had just sat down but stood now again and exclaimed:  
‘Niphredil! I’m glad to see you. Do you know where my son has gone?’  
‘Alas, I do not’, she said, for she had forgotten him in the excitement of the surprise wedding.  
‘Mistress Maggot, I have prepared a special surprise gift for you. It is the fulfilment of one of your dearest dreams. It is waiting for you outside. Shall I take your arm?’  
And striding gallantly as any youth she led the old lady outdoors, followed by the entire party, some of them carrying their drinks, cheese and apples, unwilling to stop eating because of this interruption.

There stood Eowyn tall and noble in her snowy gown. There stood Marron, looking a bit bewildered, as most men look on their wedding day.  
‘Master Mayor, shall you wed us?’ Marron asked.  
‘Please, master. This is my dearest dream, to see my precious Eowyn happily married.’ Grandma told them all.  
‘Marron Brandybuck! Have you disobeyed me?’ The Master of Buckland demanded.  
‘I have not entered Buckland. I came to Shire by swimming across North Shallows. Niphredil Baggins brought me, and Galahad and Galadrella Maggot saw us there.’

Everyone started chattering and gossiping. The Mayor was silent, thinking hard. Suddenly they saw someone rise from the bench beside the door, and rise taller than any of them, even taller than Merry, Pippin and Eowyn.  
‘It would please me to see these two wed. Do not stand in their way, my friends. When they were younger, they walked secretly in my Wood and spoke promises. Their union will be a blessed one.’  
‘Tom Bombadil!’ Merry, Pippin and Sam felt the years fall away as they saw Tom there, unchanged, save that the feather in his hat was white.

And so did Marron get his Eowyn. And the celebration was great indeed, and Tom Bombadil sang for them, and then went his way. And there was tea and cakes for everyone, and more presents, and many people gave the presents they had received to the wedded couple. And then there was dance in the hay-barn for everyone who could dance, and for many who thought they could until they heard Tomkin Maggot’s thrilling fiddle. The rhythm was so fast that everyone who danced to it was kept warm in the winter night. And there was beer and wine, and a bridal chamber where Marron led Eowyn, the very chamber Eowyn had been born in, Lily’s room, now decorated with mistletoe all over. After all, Yule was only a week away. II: Bitter

Merry was at a loss. Everything had happened so fast. Tom Bombadil, Eowyn wed, Grandma telling him the wedding dress was made of Lily’s wedding dress. After that he had drunk a bottle of wine, then another. Now he had decided to go out into the chill air to clear his head. Stars shone in the sky, high and cold. He had lost his daughter. At least she was happy.  
‘Are you happy, Lily?’ He asked the stars.

‘Yes.’ The answer came in a whisper into his ear. He looked at the speaker, and gasped.  
There beside him stood Lily in the flesh. She wore her familiar brown fur jacket, a green skirt, and a red scarf around her head. She looked straight into his heart with her piercing green eyes.  
‘Of course a woman is happy when her only daughter is happy.’ Lily said.  
‘Is this a dream? Where did you come from?’  
There was mystery in her eyes, as she turned them away from him.  
‘Hush.’ Her hand was warm on his cheek, and they embraced, crying. Lily led him into the stable, into a pile of hay in the farthest, darkest corner.

And Meriadoc Brandybuck had his dearest wish fulfilled.

He fell asleep holding onto that wish, holding onto Lily, who had returned to him from beyond the stars. Because she was so happy. Because Eowyn had found love. Or was she just a dream of a drunken head? Surely not, when her body was so solid in his arms...

But when he woke at the crack of dawn, Lily was not beside him. Someone else was. Thin, long legs showing under a green skirt. A small body wrapped in thick fur. Black hair, the scarf fallen away. A face turned away from him. He dared not look who it was. Part of him wanted to slip away before she woke. But the other part wanted to be honourable about it. As honourable as possible, anyway.

Suddenly the woman rolled around in her sleep. Merry stared at her, and spoke her name. She woke to it.  
Her eyes were green, but she did not resemble Lily in any other way. Merry had wrapped a drunken dream around her and her ambiguous words, if she had indeed spoken them.  
‘Oh, cousin!’ She said, ‘I am so sorry.’  
‘So am I, Niphredil, so am I.’  
‘I was drunk again. I did wrong.’  
‘I was drunk, too. I saw Lily, not you. But even if you had been Lily I would have done wrong by Estella.’  
‘I won’t tell anyone.’  
‘I will tell my wife.’  
‘Tell her also that I still respect you. I am unworthy.’  
‘No. You are still a child. You are innocent, you never meant no harm to anyone. You wanted to give Lily to me for one night, did you not? You meant to wake before me and go.’  
‘Yes. But I was drunk. And I was alone and I wanted someone and you are so handsome and I have lost Frodo.’  
‘Frodo? Your father? What do you mean?’  
‘No. Frodo Gardner. He’s left the Shire and Eowyn has a letter to me but I forgot it and now I must wait.’  
‘Yes, you must. It’s her wedding night.’  
‘Yes.’ Nobody had come to the stables yet, the animals all slept. The two cousins had a moment yet to themselves, before facing the world. ‘Where did you get that fur-jacket?’  
‘It was Grandma Maggot’s special gift to me. She knew about the wedding beforehand, you see.’  
‘Oh.’ ‘Frodo Gardner.’ Merry said thoughtfully, ‘Sam’s son, isn’t he?’  
‘Yes.’  
‘Do you love him?’  
‘Maybe. I miss him.’  
‘His family is such a respectable one, too.’  
‘But his father left the Shire, too.’  
‘Oh, that. Yes. But Sam was very shy with Rosie until their wedding-‘  
‘Merry! He never. Not Frodo. I took your advice when we last met.’  
‘Sorry.’

‘Merry.’  
‘Yes?’  
‘Please tell no-one, except Estella, and ask her to keep it secret that it was me you - you - ‘ Niphredil suddenly started sobbing.  
‘You don’t have to say it. I’m good at keeping secrets, remember?’  
‘But is Estella?’  
‘The very best. Her mother is a midwife.’  
‘Do you love Estella?’  
‘Yes.’  
‘As much as you loved Lily?’  
‘That I cannot measure, for I never loved them both at the same time. All I have of Lily is a memory.’  
‘You are wise. I wish I could be like you, and love only one man.’  
‘Who would it be? Frodo Gardner, or Legolas Greenleaf?’ ‘Ah! If only I knew. Frodo is so nice and so much like his namesake but also like his father, I mean he has a power of hope inside him. But Legolas is nice in another way, and he’s very wise and when I was with him I desired him with all that is in me, but now I have only a memory. And being separated from him is what made me a g’reshu.*’  
‘Where did you learn that word? It’s a nasty one and of the Black Speech. Westron has no word like it.’  
‘Where did you learn it?’  
‘Lang used it of Lily so I asked Gandalf before he went West what it means.’  
‘I knew an orc once.’  
‘Oh no!’  
‘He was only a cub and as good as orcs can be. All he wanted was to ‘see golden trees and die’. So I took him near Lorien and he expected the elves to kill him but they let him live. And I walked under the trees and saw the flowers of my name and drank from Nimrodel and felt pure. And I looked into the Mirror but all I saw were the stars, but they were not the stars above me. In the mirror I saw Valacirca - the Sickle you call it, but above me it was hidden. And I was allowed to enter that land because I bore the mallorn leaf, and this.’

Niphredil showed her cousin the Phial of Galadriel, dark and dim.

‘It shone when I defended Snaga - the orc-child, and when I showed it to the Galadhrim, and once more at Rivendell, but there I erred again and after that it has been as you see it.’  
‘In this I can give you no counsel. But Valacirca! What do you think it means?’  
‘Oh... Elbereth set it in the sky to defy Morgoth! The Sickle of Valar! Their wrath, their revenge, a harvest of blood... ever since Eönwë gave me a bow I’ve known, somewhere deep in my heart, that my part is the path of war...’  
‘Who walks it with you?’  
‘Merry! Thank you!’ Niphredil hugged her cousin.  
‘That was the best question anyone has asked me in a long while! That is my choice - who would I take to war? Frodo or Legolas?’  
‘Your Father did not take Legolas to Mordor. He took Frodo’s father.’  
‘I’ll remember that. But perhaps I cannot take either one, as Legolas wants me not and Frodo is gone.’  
‘Eowyn has a letter.’  
‘Yes. It is time I go into the house and you stay here and sleep alone.’  
‘Niphredil... take care.’  
‘I will. You too!’

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
* G'reshu: a disgusting word of my own invention. Appears first in 'Red Lily'. Approximate meaning: 'Whore', literal rather than an insult.  



	13. Frodo's Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

  
Niphredil met Galadrella at the well. She watched the girl break the ice in the well by means of dropping a stone on a rope, and then haul up the first bucket of a winter day.  
‘Good morning, Drella!’  
‘And a good morning to you! Where did you sleep, did you forget you had a bed right beside mine?’  
‘I forgot indeed. I was drunk and found myself in the stable when I woke - I’m lucky I chose to fall down in a clean pile of hay and not get my new jacket soiled!’  
‘A woman ought not to drink that much, you know.’  
‘Nobody ought to drink that much. Can I have some water?’  
Niphredil drank and washed her face.  
‘You know, Galadrella Maggot, I think I’ll drink nothing but water from this day on until I get my life in order!’  
‘Not ever tea?’  
‘Some people put brandy in tea, and I could mistake wine for juice. No, plain water for me, from now on!’

Those guests who had stayed the night were coming to seek breakfast one by one. It was a quiet meal because so many were asleep even in the very room and headache was not a rare condition among those who were awake. Niphredil put half the athelas she had into a bowl of warm water on the table and soon received a bunch of thanks. Then Eowyn appeared and sat down beside her.  
‘Well?’ Niphredil asked.  
‘What?’ Eowyn was still sleepy.  
‘Is that any way to greet a bride?’ Someone asked and got a tired laugh from the menfolk.  
‘My letter from Frodo.’  
‘Oh! Here it is, in my pocket.’

Niphredil silently read these words:

‘Dearest Niphredil,

I have heard from a reliable person the name of the man, who is no true man, who stole from you something that cannot be restored to you, and broke something that cannot be repaired. Since he also broke your heart and stole your spirit, which can be restored, I will attempt to restore these to you by making him confess his crime and seek your forgiveness. I attempt to put him at your mercy, for if it were known what he has done, he could have no high position and would lose, if not the friendship of kings, at least that of queens and all womankind.

All this I will do out of love. Forgive me that I have departed so suddenly, but I hope to return as soon as I can.

With me goes a trusty friend, Samkin by name, and thus are we Frodo and Sam.

If it suits you, you may of course follow us. We take the shortest road south, along Brandywide to the old green road, and past Isengard to Gondor, where we hope to find the one we seek. Our route you may tell to my father, as I forgot to tell it in the letter I sent home, but your secret is safe with me and I don’t think anyone needs to know it. I’ve told them I went to see the world.

After I return, seek me in my father’s house whenever you need anything that I can give you, be it my heart, be it my inheritance, or be it just friendship and a place to spend the night when you pass through the Shire where ever the road takes you.

Yours truly,

Frodo Gardner’

Niphredil folded the letter. She wondered if the Samkin was named Smallburrows, and if he was the ‘reliable person’ mentioned - but he could not be, as he knew nothing about Nár son of Bárin. Who knew? Merry, who was good at keeping secrets, and who had known nothing about Frodo’s departure. Legolas, but would he have visited Shire in secret? And why would he tell Frodo something like that? It couldn’t be him, either. Snaga had heard a lot, but no names, and also was extremely unlikely to come north. Elanor? Niphredil had not told her, and yet she had seemed to know... Reliable person, it could be man or woman, hobbit or elf... or dwarf! What if Nár had told someone? And that someone had passed through the Shire?

‘Eowyn? Is there anyone named Smallburrows here?’  
‘That’s our neighbour’s name! They were here yesterday, but now they are home, of course.’

And so Niphredil ended up knocking on a stranger’s door at an early hour.  
‘Yes? How can I help you? A bald hobbit who looked like he had just woken asked her.  
‘Excuse me? Are you master Smallburrows?’  
‘No, I’m just a visitor here. Came for that Maggot party yesterday. My sister’s husband, the master of this house, went milking the cows and will be back any moment now.’ Indeed, a younger hobbit was soon seen carrying buckets of milk to a side entrance, where a woman took them, and then going back towards the cowshed.  
‘Excuse me, master farmer! Could I ask you something?’  
‘Why, good morning! Aren’t you the Baggins lass who gave us a wedding! I mean, we had a birthday party and then it wasn't!’  
‘That’s me. Niphredil Baggins, yes. Are you related to a Samkin Smallburrows? Young fellow, dark hair, about your height?’  
‘That’d be my nephew. Funny you should ask...’  
‘How so?’  
‘Well, his father Robin is here, still asleep I’m afraid, and Samkin was supposed to come too, he’s been doing a lot of guarding at that new gate of theirs, not far from here, only he didn’t come, and Robin says the lad’s left Shire altogether, only he can’t say why or where to, and that’s no way of taking leave of one’s father, if you ask me.’  
‘Well, thank you. I think I can give him the where to, and something of a why as well.’  
‘In that case I’ll wake him at once!’

‘At once’ seemed to mean in this house after waking a lot of other people and explaining them a lot of things, many not related to the matter at hand at all, such as ordering a son to go see a cow’s leg and a daughter to clean a table. Finally Robin Smallburrows was found and roused, and Niphredil was introduced to him, as they had not met at the party.  
‘Your son has gone to Gondor!’ Niphredil announced, and that opened Robin’s eyes quite wide. Suddenly they were surrounded by eager listeners all over.  
‘But that’s at the other end of the world!’  
‘Not quite. I’ve been there and it’s a good way away, I admit, but not too long to walk, although the way does take time.’  
‘How do you know where he is?’  
‘Because he left with a friend of mine. My friend, Frodo Gardner, wrote letters to me and to his father, and told us that he has gone to see the world with his friend Samkin. He also told they will go to Gondor and be back as soon as possible. But I was not sure if it was your Samkin he meant, but since he was the only Samkin I know of I thought to come and ask. But did he not write you a letter?’  
‘Our Samkin? He never learned to write, and if he had, it wouldn’t be much use as neither me nor the missus never learned to read!’  
‘Oh.’  
‘So we only heard from the other guards he was gone. But how do you know our Samkin, Miss Baggins?’  
‘I told you I was to Gondor once. Well, I came to Shire by the new gate and stayed the night at the guardhouse, and talked a lot with him and the other guards, and then I saw him when I went to get master Marron from Bree, but we didn’t talk much as I was in a hurry.’  
‘Indeed! Quite a surprise you had for us yesterday! Are all your friends as adventurous?’  
‘Well, I think Marron and Eowyn will settle down now, and the rest of Frodo’s family are quite peaceful too.’  
‘I’ve never heard of the Gardner family, nor of this Frodo. He must be a new friend to my son.’  
‘His family is named Gamgee. He took himself a new name because his grand-dad told him ‘It ain’t the business of Gamgees to inherit Bag End, it’s our job to gardener there.’ And so he said: ‘then I shall be called Gardner’, and he is, although he hasn’t inherited yet, of course. And he does tend the garden more than anyone else.’  
‘What! You’re telling me he’s the Mayor’s heir?’  
‘Yes.’  
‘Strange days indeed. Yesterday that wedding, and the Bombadil fellow, and now this. Gondor and the Mayor’s heir! Next you’ll be telling me you are the daughter of Mad Baggins and that hobbits can fly!’  
‘Not unless you call Frodo Baggins mad.’  
‘Frodo? But he’s another one who disappeared! You must be joking.’  
‘My father is alive and well, or was when I last saw him. I cannot tell where he is, nor do I claim any property in the Shire but what I brought with me.’  
‘Well, at least hobbits can’t fly!’ Remarked a girl, who held a wet drag of cloth in her lap because she had forgotten all about cleaning tables for the moment.  
‘Don’t be too sure about that. My Uncle Bilbo, or Mad Baggins to you, flew astride a great Eagle once, as did my father and Sam Gamgee later. Ask the Mayor the next time you meet him, and he’ll be glad to tell you all about it.’  
And with that, Niphredil took her leave of this talkative family.

 


	14. Frodo and Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

Only two days after parting from Niphredil, before which Frodo had thought that her retreating back would be the closest he’d ever see of adventure, he himself set out south, and found courage he had not thought he possessed.  
  


For Samkin had suggested they go by boat to the Ford of Sarn. And Frodo was afraid of water, and still he agreed. For he wanted to go fast and by the shortest road, or river, so as too return soon.  
  


And Samkin owned a boat, and knew how to navigate it. And the stream sped their way so they reached the Ford in a day. Frodo was afraid, camping out in the wilderness, but he dared not show it. These were empty lands, with few paths and few wanderers, if any, for they met no-one. Frodo’s fear was not of orcs and troll but of bears and wolves. Samkin had a guardsman’s spear and a hunting bow, but Frodo was unarmed save for a knife and a sling, so he borrowed the spear from his friend.  
  


‘Are you really called Sam?’ Frodo asked, as they fried fish for supper - they had hung a line from their boat and been lucky to catch some.   
  
‘Yes, sometimes.’  
  
‘So why were you named Samkin?’  
  
‘Well, my father knows your father, although he got a bit shy when good old Sam was made Mayor, anyways he named me sort of after him.’  
  


Of their journey a long story could be told of, as they came the great road that goes south, and walked it one cold day after another. Winter is a time of warm beds and staying home, but these were forgotten by the two companions. Sometimes they did meet other travellers, Big People with a funny way of speaking and dark brows, the people of these lonely lands, who had been here before Numenor built its roads and would probably reman as long as the roads did. And the tidings echcanged were simple: that Shire was not for humans but Bree and ancient Arnor welcomed them, and that in Gondor and Rohan all was well and in Enedwaith getting better. But in the East, far in Rhûn and Khand, there were warlords who troubled King Elessar and slaves who still yearned for freedom.   
  


And the companions crossed a river the name of which they had known at a bridge they had expected to be a ford, and entered an inhabited land, although sparsely so. Enedwaith. And there was even an inn or two on the road, but the beer served was too bitter for hobbit tastes.  
  


* * *

  


Niphredil followed Marron and Eowyn to their house in Bree, which they reached just in time for Yule. She wanted to guard her friends on the road, yes, but she knew also that she was putting off a great decision. They young couple were glad of her help in arranging the house and of her company, for Marron had but few friends in Bree and Eowyn had none, and not even newlyweds want to spend Yule in a silent and empty house. Niphredil, even in her present state of mind and holding onto her promise of drinking plain water, was one who knew how to make a party. She urged them to invite all their new neighbours, she told stories and arranged fun and games, and took the party to the Prancing Pony after the hosts retreated to their bedchamber.  
  


And then it was closing time, well after midnight, and she stepped out into darkness, perhaps the first time ever she left an inn straight sober.  
  


And she knew, in the silence of that darkest of nights, that it was time she found her way.  
  


She sat on a pile of firewood beside the door of Marron’s house, and took out the Speaking Stone, Quetondo.  
  


‘Merry Yule, my friend.’  
  
‘Yule? Forget Yule! You have to hurry!’  
  
‘Where to?’  
  
‘To Gondor, of course! I feel it, I feel something terrible happens if Frodo gets there before you!’  
  
‘But how can I catch him? I cannot fly, never again!'  
  
‘Are you sure? Have you tried?’  
  
‘Well, no. Not as such. But I think no magic will come to me. Not even in the Phial.’  
  
‘Try it. Try the Phial, and see.’  
  
  


‘Eärendil be blessed! A spark, tiny but bright, steady. I see it, do you see it, Quetondo?’  
  
‘I see it.’  
  


‘Tule!’* She called, and all her possessions from indoors were suddenly at her feet.  
  
‘Rámar!’**  
  


A falcon flew from where a maid had stood, high into the cold air, towards the south.   
  


A falcon landed on a tree in Ithilien only a week later.   
  


* * *

  


* Quenya, ‘Come!’  
  
** ‘Wings!’


	15. The Silver Quill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An independent sequel to Nr Tinwen. Frodo's daughter is no average hobbit girl, she loves strong drink and handsome men, race whatever... In Middle-Earth, her name is a blessing and a curse... to Legolas, for one.

  


Winter in Ithilien. A season of rain. Cold nights, frost on the ground. Leafless trees, as this tall willow beside the Great Anduin. Under the tree, someone clad in green sat with a quill and parchment in his hands.  
  


Soundlessly, a falcon landed in the branches. A moment later there sat a maiden, peering down at the man below. With satisfaction she recognised him as the one she sought.  
  
‘Have you turned scribe all of a sudden?’ Niphredil asked, laughing, as she climbed down.   
  
The man stared at her with amazement in his sea-grey eyes.   
  
‘Niphredil! What queer wind brought you here?’  
  
‘The northern wind on falcon wings!’  
  
‘Really? How are things in the Shire?’  
  
‘Well - they are well! You may have heard Sam Gamgee is the Mayor, but did you know he has thirteen children? The eldest is named Elanor. My father named her. Merry and Pippin have families too, and the last party I went to was the wedding of Merry’s daughter. Eowyn. But she was not wed to Pippin’s eldest, although his name is Faramir.’ Niphredil tried to get a look at the parchment Legolas had dropped.  
  
‘What were you writing?’  
  
‘I was drawing. Look, isn’t she a beauty?’ He picked the drawing up and unrolled it with a grandiose gesture.  
  
Niphredil gave it a long, appraising look.  
  
‘Mmm. Lovely. You draw well. What is she called?’  
  
‘What is that to you if she be called Thuringwethil?’ Legolas grinned.  
  
‘You wouldn’t dare! You’d never find the Straight Path in a ship named after a vampire*. But oh, so many sails! She’ll be a grand one indeed.’  
  
‘Yes, and her name will be Ariel.’  
  
‘Ariel! Why, it means the same as ‘Arwen’ and ‘Arien’. Who is she named for?’  
  
‘My mother. Queen Ariel Tar-Laigaladhren**. Her last words to me were that she regretted never having seen the Sea. Since I cannot show Ariel the Sea, I’ll at least let the Sea see Ariel.’  
  
‘Oh. She has been gone many years now, by the calmness of your sorrow.  
  
‘Three centuries, no more.’  
  
‘Oh, my friend. I cannot know, but we had no graves that new at Eresseä until...’  
  
‘Until Bilbo.’  
  
‘Yes.’  
  
Legolas took her small hand in his and helped her sit down. Then he covered their knees with his cloak, for she was suddenly shivering. Silently they sat hand in hand and stared at the inked draft of a proud ship, with the statue of a fair woman on her prow. Legolas whispered the words of an elven song -  
  


  
_‘A, my sorrow, ai! My life_

_like a star that will not shine_

_A, my sorrow, ai! My love_

_Slain and bleeding, ai! My love_

_at the sacred swan’s-wing cove_

_A, my sorrow, ai! My love.’_

‘A, nîn naergon, nae! Nîn cuil!  
  
Galad alsíla gîl  
  
A, nîn naergon, nae! Nîn mîl!  
  
Dangen agarwaen, nae! Nîn mîl!  
  
Na iaun alphrafn cîl  
  
A, nîn naergon, nae! Nîn mîl!’***

To his surprise Niphredil responded with an ancient Quenyan version:  
  


_‘A, nienya, ai! Coinya!  
  
Ve ‘elen úyë cilya  
  
A, nienya, ai! Meldanya!  
  
Talantië sercëa, ai! Meldanya!  
  
Mí aira alquaráma cirya  
  
A, nienya, ai! Meldanya!’****_

‘I know the song. It is a lament of Alqualonde. One of many. How has it come to Middle-Earth?’  
  
‘The Vanyar who fought at the downfall of Angband brought songs with them. This they sang, the Sindar thought, for their slain companions. Later we learned from the Noldor it tells of the shameful kinslaying, but it had already become a funeral song among others. Now, forget all graves, young one, and tell me why have you returned to this land?’  
  


‘It is a strange matter. Let Quetondo explain, I don’t understand him one bit.’ Niphredil took out the living stone.  
  
‘Greetings, Prince Legolas! Niphredil, has he seen the letter yet?’  
  
‘No.’  
  
‘Let’s have a look at that first.’  
  
‘All right. But Legolas, this is kind of a personal letter, and I’m not showing it to everyone.’   
  
He read Frodo’s letter.  
  
‘"The man, who is no true man", whom does he mean?’  
  
‘Nár the Dwarf, I guess.’  
  
‘Who knows, then?’  
  
‘I’ve told only Merry Brandybuck.’  
  
‘And he certainly...’  
  
‘...is good at keeping secrets. I know.’  
  
‘So how could Frodo have learned of it?’  
  
‘From the dwarves?’  
  


Legolas pondered this.  
‘Not likely. Nár is not of Durin’s people, he is an eastern dwarf, and none of his family would travel through the Shire. If they have business at the Blue Mountains they tend to take a more southern road, and even that seldom.’  
  
‘So how come he is here, at the heart of the west?’  
  
‘Gondor is not the heart of the west. Arnor may have been, once, but the true heart was Beleriand.'  
  
‘So what is Gondor?’  
  
‘A village of stone houses on a bloodstained battlefield. A gathering of youths who have to do the decisions of the elders, for the elders have grown too weak. But all this has little to do with you.’  
  
‘Has it?’ And yet I shall fight for Gondor!’  
  
‘Fight for Gondor? At the eastern wars?’  
  
‘Yes. Quetondo, tell him.’  
  
‘It so happens, prince Legolas, that our Niphredil had a look into the Mirror of Galadriel, and she saw Valacirca - saw it in the mirror, but not above. Much as one sees the stars at Kheled-zaram, I think.’  
  
‘In Mirrormere, perhaps. But Galadriel is gone and her ring is powerless. Nobody sees anything in that basin anymore.’  
  
‘You forget, prince, that there are powers older than the rings of Eregion. Powers that rival Sauron, powers stronger than either the Master Ring or its maker, when they were separate. Such a power is in Arien’s blood. Niphredil. Did she not fly as a silver seagull? You still have that quill, I perceive. And now she has flown again, a falcon this time. But the change of shape is not all she possesses.’  
  
‘Niphredil, is this - why such a scared look?’  
  
‘I have no powers! It is a mistake! Not me, I’m not my mother!’   
The girl buried her face in her hands. Huddling there, she looked very small and frightened indeed. Legolas felt an urge to hold her, but he dared not. If her heart still walked the paths of cruel darkness and loveless desire, she would ensnare him. Quetondo went on speaking, a stone-hard voice somewhere in the hobbit’s lap.   
  
‘I have heard you speak the words of command, in the noble tongue. ‘Tule!’ you said, and your belongings came to you from a locked house. And your thoughts, too, have moved things, small but significant things.’  
  
‘What do you mean?’  
  
‘Well, if your power had not interfered, you would be pregnant now.’  
  
‘What? To who?’  
  


Legolas tapped the girl’s shoulder to get her attention.  
  
‘Perhaps you would like to have this discussion alone with Quetondo?’  
  
‘No! Please, be a friend to me, I’m afraid of this magic he speaks of, if you leave me now with him I’ll throw him into the river!’   
  
‘That would not be wise, Ohtarcë.’  
  
‘I know, Quetondo, but I’m too afraid to think. You say I have the power to - make myself barren?’  
  
‘For a moment, yes. When you fervently wish so. As you did a week before Yule.’  
  
‘Oh. You mean, I would be pregnant to him?’  
  
‘I’m afraid so.’  
  
‘Thank the holy ones! But don’t you think it’s risky to tell me about it? I will have even more temptations now.’  
  
‘And you will refuse them all. That is why I tell you about the power now instead of before. Niphredil, when you used to drink too much, you would have been dangerous, very dangerous, had you know of such a power in you.’  
  
They all were silent and thought about this for a moment.  
  


Then Legolas spoke:  
  
‘Is this true? That you no longer drink, that you refuse temptations?’  
  
‘I have drunk only water since - since a week before Yule.’  
  
‘And as to other temptations? Forgive me, but I have to know.’  
  
‘I only ever did those mistakes when I was drunk. Of course you must know. Legolas, it is I who should beg for forgiveness. I hurt you last spring, I really did. I broke my word to you.’  
  
‘You broke a lot more than that. My heart. But you are forgiven. Don’t cry. Look at me. I must ask you a question. Please look at me.’ Slowly Niphredil lifted her gaze.  
  


‘What is the relationship between you and Frodo Gardner?’  
  
‘We have behaved in a most respectable way.’  
  
‘That was not what I meant. Are you in love?’  
  
‘He is. I’m not sure about myself.’  
  
‘Not sure? How can one not be sure about love?’  
  
‘Easily, if one is mortal.’  
  


‘You are more than mortal, Luthien’s Shadow.’  
  
‘Quetondo! Tell me everything or nothing, stop hinting and wrapping me in names.’  
  
‘Very well. You have ainurin blood, Niphredil Baggins. It gives you magical abilities. When you learn them in their fullness, you are able to take any shape you wish, as long as it is female. Bird or animal, even a tree, man, elf, or hobbit, dwarf, or some other, nameless shape. But you could also become a dragon, a vampire, a wraith, and if you held the shape too long you might forget what you truly are. In a small measure you can manipulate the things around you. If you wished you might manipulate people, too, but that would be wrong. You are the most powerful user of magic in all the western parts of Middle-Earth. If you join the wars you will save many of your companions, and slay more enemies than any knight.’  
‘I knew it!’ Legolas exclaimed.  
  
‘You knew? What?’  
  
‘That your archery skills are more than natural.’   
  
‘Oh, that.’  
  
‘I am not finished yet,’ Quetondo said, ‘The path of war is not the only one that opens before you. You could study your skills, to use them in full measure.’  
  
‘Who would teach me?’  
  
‘There is one, and one only. Radagast the Brown.’  
  
‘I will consider this.’  
  
  
‘Very well, I see I am in the company of a wizard. What shall you be called? Niphredil the Green?’  
  
‘Do not mock me, Legolas!’  
  
‘Oo, do you threaten me with your wrath?’  
  
‘Please.’  
  
‘Sorry. But we are no closer to the solution of your problem. How did Frodo learn about Nár? I think it might be useful if you told me all you can about what you have done since last we parted.’  
  


‘I went to Rohan, for a brief time. I wandered in East-Emnet, where all I met was grass, endless plains. I loved it. And I met a horseman, Eodhelm by name. He took me as far as the Field of Celebrant, and there I met another lonely traveller. An orc. The child of an orc, who was walking towards Lórien. He called himself Snaga, begged me to let him live, and told he wished to see ‘golden trees’ before he died. He had heard of them and elves with sharp arrows, he was younger than I, not nice, but not evil either. I led him near Lórien and took charge of him, vouched for him in front of the Galadhrim. As far as I know, he still lives in a mud hut within sight of the southernmost mellyrn. In Lórien I poured water into Galadriel’s Mirror, and many saw visions in it, but I saw only Valacirca. Then I walked north, as far as the Upper Pass though the mountains, and the road took me to Rivendell. It is curious, but there for the first time I truly felt I was following the footsteps of Frodo and Bilbo. But Rivendell is no longer as homely a house as it used to be. Neither Elladan nor Elrohir have taken a wife, and the lack of a female presence can be felt like a heaviness in the air. I did not stay there long. I hurried my way towards Bree, where for the first time I met hobbits other than my family. I talked to a youth in trouble, Marron, and helped him out of some of it with the simple gift of a golden coin, for he turned out to be my second cousin. I also took a letter to carry to his sweetheart, Eowyn Brandybuck, and later they were indeed able to marry. The Shire is nowadays defended against intruders, and I spent my first night there in a guardhouse. The second I slept in a room that used to be my father’s, in Brandy Hall, where I met my cousin Merry. But before summer ended I came to Hobbiton and to the Hill. To Bag End, where Sam Gamgee now lives with his Rosie and all the children. Let’s see... Elanor, Frodo and Rose are the eldest, then Merry and Pippin, Goldilocks, Daisy and Hamfast - or was it the other way round, and there is a Bilbo as well, Ruby and Robin, tiny little Tolman, and Primula - no, Primrose she is. I really should remember better, I stayed there for a good while. After Eowyn and Marron were married, I went to Bree with them to help them arrange their new home. And from there I came here.’  
  
‘At which point Frodo left?’  
  
‘Before the wedding, while I was busy elsewhere.’  
  


The sun had almost set while they talked. A young woman came to the river, calling out:  
  
‘Prince Legolas? Are you here? You’ll get a cold if you keep doing this.’  
  
‘Elves don’t catch cold, Firiel.’ He stood up, and Niphredil did the same.  
  
‘Niphredil, this is Firiel daughter of Ondoin. Firiel, this is the maiden I’ve told you about. Niphredil Baggins.’  
  
‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Baggins.’  
  
‘Er... I’m glad to meet you, too.’  
  
‘Firiel is a student of the healers. They have a house not far from here, and I’ve been staying there now and then.’  
  
‘And he is a real bother. We never know whether to expect him or not, and when he does come it is never at a decent hour.’  
  
‘Now, now, ma’am. I never asked for a room, it was you that offered it.’  
  
‘As if I would allow a prince to sleep outdoors in midwinter! And don’t you ‘ma’am’ me!’  
  
‘As if I had not slept outdoors in a proper snowy northern winter any number of times.’  
  
‘Well, Miss Baggins is no elf, and I’m sure she would love a warm bed and a warm supper.’  
  
‘Indeed I would, if such are available. Legolas, you can sleep up in a tree for all I care, but I feel like my bones are frozen. Thanks for lending the cloak, though.’  
  
‘I didn’t say that I wouldn’t come, Firiel. But you are right, I shouldn’t have let my little friend sit so long in this cold place.’  
  
‘If we all are agreed, then let us go. The sun has set.’ And Firiel led them to a winding path.  
  


* * *

  


Linguistical and historical notes:  
  
* There _are_ vampires in the Silmarillion. Thuringwethil is a female messenger of Sauron.  
  
** Ariel, Arwen and Arien all mean ‘Noble Woman’ (Arien can also be taken to mean Sun-Maiden, but I think it is she who has given name to the sun, not the other way round). Tar-Laigaladhren means ‘Queen of Green Trees’.  
  
  
*** This is as pure Sindarin as I can manage. Literary translation:  
  


‘Oh, my sad lament, alas! My life!  
  
Reflecting an unshining star  
  
Oh, my sad lament, alas! My love!  
  
Slain, bloodstained, alas! My love!  
  
At the holy place, the swan’s-wing passage,  
  
Oh, my sad lament, alas! My love!’  
  


**** And this, my Quenya. Notice how the meanings have changed with time and one word has been misunderstood (probably because of the well-known word Calacirya, Passage of Light).  
  


‘Oh, my sorrow, alas! My life!  
  
Like a star that will not shine  
  
Oh, my sorrow, alas! My beloved!  
  
Fallen, bloody, alas! My beloved!  
  
In the holy swan’s-wing _ship_ ,  
  
Oh, my sorrow, alas! My beloved!’  
  


I’m a nitpicker with languages, I know... Who thinks Sindarin is prettier than Quenya? Go read the poem again... I bet you can't even pronounce the Sindarin bit...   



End file.
